Together as now, (forever as one)
by theamazingfaust
Summary: Clexa Soulmates AU - Multi-Verse, in which they fall in love endlessly.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, so I've been working on this for quite some times. The concept, you may have gathered, is that Clarke and Lexa are soulmates. I wanted to do a soulmate story but it felt to constricting to write only one story. So I thought, why not write them all? So, this is a multi-chapter, one-shot-ish, where a new chapter is a new life-time, and the first is the first time they meet. The first fews stories are already decided, but PLEASE feel free to come on tumblr ifwearestrangers or drop a comment if your have headcanons, aesthetic or ideas.**  
 **I must warn you that each story ends with one of them or both dying, but there is ALWAYS a new chapter awaiting with both of them living again and again.**

* * *

 **Together as now, (forever as one).**

There is something incredibly fascinating to history, and utlimately, life in its very core. Maybe it is the tendency it has to repeat itself, without ever being the same. This striking paradox that things are doomed to happen again and again, filling human kind with a sense of eternal déjà-vu, without ever granting it with actual reoccurance.

Are we fated to reproduce the same mistakes, over and over? Fate. It's a special word. It's a funny word. It holds this idea that no one is entitled to their own life. To their own choices. Maybe it means, in some ways, that whatever we do decide, whatever we do choose, all the roads and all the choices lead to the same outcome.

And if life is a cycle, if life forever comes full circle, that we are fated, destined to futures that aren't ours to decide, does that make us perpetually subjected to the grand scheme of things? Do we accept it? Do we even realize it? And if we do, do we stop it? The real question is do we want to stop it.

Let me tell you a story. It isn't often you hear a tale like this. A tale of a neverending bond, caught in the whirlwind of cycles and doomed by its destiny. This story, as of now, knows no end. It might never. And that's all the beauty and despair of it.

It's two people, two souls, that are cursed to live with repeatedly having to watch each other die. It's two friends, two lovers, that are blessed to live with the knowledge that no matter what happens next, that no matter how hard the cycle gets, it'll always start over. It'll never end.

You may think you heard it already. You may think you know it. And you probably do. But, there isn't a single tale. This is hundreds of them, of differents lives that crosse each others, impact each others.

My story begins the first time souls entwined, met and recognized.

And, almost as expected, it begins with a princess, and although the term will lose its sense over generations, it'll never lose its meaning. The princess' name is Lexa. If I'm being accurate, I should tell you it's Alexandria, but the young green-eyed brunette doesn't care much for it. Lexa is just fine, she will tell you, if you dare call her otherwise. She'll say it with a gentle authority. And you will comply.

Lexa is a carefree young girl, that often finds herself yearning for something unknown. She has yet to figure out what, and it's not uncommon to find her wandering the castle and its surroundings, white dress falling pliantly against her body, bare feet brushing the fresh grass in the morning.

She roams in the deep forest or in endless corridors of the castle for hours, until King Gustus orders half the guard to search the entire land to bring his missing daughter back. But she's not hiding, never, she just roams, so she's easily found.

"Loosing yourself around the castle like this is unwise, Alexandria."

"Father."

"Lexa,"

"I am not loosing myself on those long hours, dearest father, if anything, I am trying to find it."

"You are the future Queen of this kingdom, and it is time you start acting like it."

"So a Queen musn't be allowed time to herself?"

"A Queen you will be when you will stop disappearing on your aging father."

"Ah, I see much clearly now." And, the argument always ends in the same way. "Surely this hasn't been about my ability to fulfill my duty to the throne, but merely about my poor aging father's concerns for my safety."

A chuckling Gustus always ends up telling her to be careful, to remember to be brave.

* * *

The morning of her eighteenth birthday, when the castle is fussing over planning festivities, going out of their way to attend to Lexa's every need, the young heiress feels particularly yearning. She has an emptiness in her chest. So she starts wandering again.

She walks slowly, searching. She touches the rugged stones of the walls, and tries to find answers in their secrets. She reads past lives of countless like her, imagines other girls brushing their fingers against the same spots as her, creating connections in impossible places.

She thinks of the lives that animated the lands before her, before her father. She heard legends, she heard myths. She heard about faceless heroes that have accomplished much, or traitors that set examples. She wants to know about people, about unique and beautiful people whose stories are not written for posterity, but written in their heart, and in their eyes. Sometimes, she feels like she seeks for her own words to be written in someone else's eyes.

But duty calls, and she can't linger too long, listening to the quiet murmurs of the cold rocks.

She goes through celebratory dinner, holding her head high under the scrutiny of the lucky people attending this ceremony. She keeps her stance steady at all times, shoulders tired from the effort. She aches to let them down, run in the soft night that is falling. The hole between her ribs expands tenfold.

After the meal is over, and people dance and laugh in her name, she slips away, takes advantage of the darkening skies. She doesn't want to be found this time. She visits places she rarely went before.

The stables are one, the soldiers usually there always looking at her with hunger for something she isn't willing to give. She avoids it. This time it seems empty, and the horses wouldn't dare look at her the wrong way.

However, she's surprised to find light, to hear a soft voice, gentle and soothing. It's not masculine, it's not a man's. That's the second surprise. Women are not allowed near the stables usually, and the only reason she's here is because her title grants her permission. Only members of the King's army are allowed in here.

When she rounds the corner, the voice getting clearer, nearer, and there's the sight of a long haired blonde girl ever so softly brushing a horse's neck, Lexa's breath hitch.

During long minutes, hidden from view, the brunette just stares, striken. She doesn't dare breathe, or make any sound that could disturb the sight before her. There is something utterly familiar about this girl, and she aches because her chest feels suddenly heavy. She doesn't dare acknowledge the reason, it frigthens her to no end, but you and I know: the hole between her lungs is not a hole anymore.

In its place, there is a ghost feeling. It's not filled yet. It's not substancial. But it's here. Something is where nothing was. And that fact alone sends waves of dizziness through Lexa's body.

"Good boy, good boy," she hears, over and over again, vocie hoarse.

So she speaks. She has to, or the world might just stop turning.

"Do you know that women are not allowed in the stables?"

And the blonde doesn't even flinch. She stops her hand at the base of the animal's neck, and turns slightly.

"I must ask what you're doing here, then."

And, Lexa, hidden in the shadows of a corner, takes a step forward, revealing herself. Eyes meet.

For a second, both girls believe at the same time that the Earth has, indeed, stopped turning.

The blonde, Clarke, as the universe decided to name her, is the first to break the silence.

"Princess, I'm sorry."

She doesn't bow though, as the coutume would want it. And Lexa is grateful for that. Sometimes, she just wishes she could be treated like everyone else. Sometimes, she hates the weight that comes with a title and a crown that isn't even on her head yet.

"Lexa is fine."

"Lexa," The blonde repeats. The name falls from her mouth effortlessly.

"So I must ask again-"

"I'm a member of the King's Army."

To say that Lexa didn't expected this would be an understatement. She stays silent, dubitative. So Clarke continues.

"My father helped yours a great deal. He repaid the favors by letting me into his army."

"Why would he repay him like this?"

"I asked to join. The other members weren't too happy but they wouldn't go against the King's orders. As long as I keep to myself, there's no problems. Some of them are decents and worthy men."

"You are a soldier." Lexa still can't believe it, and now that she tears her eyes from the other girl's face, she notices the black armor. It's weirdly appealing, yet unfamiliar to see a woman in such attire. A warmth settles deep within her, pooling in her stomach, and the feeling is so new, Lexa has to take a step back.

"I am Clarke." And the name, clicking in the other's mouth, forces the princess to take another step back. Eyes meet again, something shift in the atmosphere. A buzzing can almost be heard.

"Clarke, the soldier."

"Lexa, the princess." And there's a small smile gracing Clarke's lips. She feels warm. Being a nineteen years old soldier in the king's army has allowed her the same privileges her fellow men experience. And, it's not uncommon that ladies would come and find her at night, when she's in her quarters. She recognizes a woman's beauty, she knows of desire and lust.

However, there is something essentially different. Oh, there is no denying of the beauty in front of her. Lexa's beauty is known to all. In the soft light, tired eyes, loneliless induced look, she looks celestial. The difference doesn't reside in the beauty of the girl. Clarke can't find the words to explain, nor can she understands the feeling in the first place.

"Clarke," Lexa repeats. It's a mantra. A prayer, a soft adage. An invisible pull makes her advance again, and the two steps back she took earlier become three steps forward.

"Lexa," Clarke murmurs, taking a step as well. Armor clings, straw creaks. They're much closer than people that are not maiden should be. The brunette isn't about to tell her to step back though. The feeling of another's presence in her space is both refreshing and thrilling.

"Shouldn't you be celebrating yourself?" The blonde asks, quietly, referencing to the special day of Lexa's life.

"There are enough people in the castle celebrating me." She says, a vague melancholia rooting beneath her words. "They obviously do not need my presence to do so." She pauses and think.

"Shouldn't _you_ be celebrating me?"

"As you so rightfully put it, princess, I don't need your presence to celebrate you. Therefore, I don't need to be where the festivities are to think of you."

"I am not where the festivities are, _therefore_ , your argument is highly invalid."

"Wherever I am, know that I am always celebrating you."

Clarke is glad that she has experienced physical desire and flirting before. The deep flush on the princess' cheeks is a nice reward.

"Surely, you weren't celebrating me before I came down here."

"Be sure that I will constantly do as of now, then."

There's not a trace of playfulness. The words are violent with meanings, and when the blonde extend her hand, the brunette slips hers in it almost immediately. They both do their best to ignore the spark that shocks their system. Failure hangs heavy in the air.

The kiss pressed to soft skin of a pale hand sets an imaginary clock. Something beyond all of us gets into action. Something has begun.

Clarke's eyes never leave the brunette's as she touches with her lips silky perfection; she lingers, her fingers enjoying the warm feeling of holding such a precious thing. Lexa is entranced by that simple gesture, that has been done to her countless times before. Never before, though, it's made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Never has she felt shivers run through her entire body at the mere contact of lips on her skin. This kiss, however revent and solemn, feels like the most intimate encounter she ever shared. She buzzes and crave for more, enjoying every everlasting seconds of Clarke's lips against her hand.

"Your hand kissing skills would put many gentlemen to shame." Lexa says, soft, shy, eyes looking down. It is such an honour for Clarke to be witnessing such a display. Appearing vulnerable and affected is not a common occurrence among the royal family.

"I do not pride myself in treating a woman with the respect she deserves."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"If you take pride in giving a lady what is rightfully hers, it is implied that you do not think she should have it."

"I don't think I understand,"

And Clarke smile, tender eyes. There's sadness, in there. It saddens her too that a beautiful young woman doesn't understand the basic idea of esteem. That she can't tell the difference between respect, and obedience, submission. That she thinks the servility and docility of subjects, of people of the court, are a sign of respect and consideration.

"My respect for you is not earned. You don't have to put in an effort for me to give it. I don't have to work myself into respecting and adoring you. It is given. It is normalcy. _Therefore_ , there is no need for me to be proud of something that comes naturally."

"You have an honourable heart, Clarke."

When looks cross, green meets blue, long silences fall between exchanged breaths. It takes them several minutes to realize their hands never untouched. There is a fire in the space separating their fingers and it burns brutally. Soft passion yet to be discovered.

"What are you doing in the stables at such a dark hour, Princess Lexa?"

"I came.. wandering. Searching."

"Searching for what?"

"I don't know yet."

"Curious."

They can't pull apart, if anything, they only come closer, arms tucked between their bodies.

"How do you know when you find it, if so?"

"I just will." And deep down, maybe she already knows, maybe she already realized, that she found it just now.

"Let me know when you do, then."

Lexa can only nod slightly, because when all those hours she thought she sought out solitude and peace, she was in fact searching the opposite. In front of this stranger that doesn't feel like one, she comes to accept this truth.

"I should probably return to the castle,"

"You should."

None of them makes a move. Clarke makes the terrible mistake of averting her eyes, letting them fall on pink, full lips. Their arms have shifted, somehow, the need for physical contact grand and consuming. Hands have slipped upon foreams, and fingers started to grip the muscles under them. It ressembles a salute, a promise.

"Goodnight, Soldier,"

"Goodnight, Princess."

And, before the blonde can make a second mistake like tasting the tempting mouth before her, she lets go of the arm, and steps back. The young brunette grabs at her dress and wordlessly makes her way out of the stables, heart beating loud, as loud as the soldier's. It creates melodies underneath the stars and it's the only sound they hear before falling asleep tonight.

* * *

The following morning, when Lexa wakes, light yellow and blue eyes is the first thing she thinks about. She considers going to the stables first thing but she knows it to be unwise and she doesn't wish for anyone's company other than the blonde's.

She decides against it.

She goes to the swing, the early hours of the day still hiding most of the sun, but the light is making it's way above the mountains and forests.

She sits on the old piece of wood, hanging weakly from two ropes. She's surprised when it doesn't break under her weight. It's been a long time since she came down here. She couldn't tell what compelled her to come back.

The soft creak of the rope against the branch of the oak tree takes her back to a couple of years ago.

She almost feels the hands on her back, pushing her higher and higher. Too high sometimes, and she'd scream Anya's name with a laugh.

"Don't be so scared," Anya would tell her. "I will protect you, you won't fall," and it never failed to reassure her.

She closes her eyes, and tries to imagine her voice now. Would it sound the same? Would it have changed, slightly so, getting huskier?

She almost hears it. It says "I'm proud of you Lexa,".

Eyes still closed, she answers without thinking and her words fall into the void of silence, never reaching anyone's ear.

"Whatever for?"

"For being the strongest, most beautiful. For being the princess we expected you to be. Mom is proud too, you know." Anya would say.

"Is she there with you?"

"She sure is."

"I miss you."

And she hears the laugh this time, she opens her eyes, and she sees her, it's blurry because her eyes are filled with tears. She doesn't reach out, she doesn't try and touch for she knows the disappointment will be excruciating. Instead, she enjoys the mirage.

"I know, but don't miss me too long, the living still need you."

She drops her head, but the silhouette doesn't disappear, she stands in front of her, a soft smile that shatters her heart.

"Anya, who will protect me if I fall now that you're gone?" She hates herself for asking. She hates herself for being weak, but under no prying eyes there is no pressure for greatness and she allows the walls to crumble.

"Clarke."

Her head wipes so fast she thinks she heard bones crack. There is shock in her eyes. There is shock in her heart.

"How do you know of her?"

"I don't. But you do. And she's in here with you." And she reaches a hand across her heart; and Lexa still doesn't understand.

"How do you know of her?" She repeats, because really, she doesn't know what else to ask.

"I'm in here with you. If you can feel her, I can too."

"What does it mean, Anya?"

The confusion is overwhelming, and she doesn't know what to believe in anymore. Is this a mirage, is this her imagination, a lucid vision of clarity, early on-set demencia?

"Whatever you want it to."

"That's not very helpful."

And there's this laugh again, and Lexa missed it so much, she might drop to her knees and scream at the gods above for tearing her sister from her.

"I'm not here to be helpful, Lexie,"

"Quit calling me that."

"You know I won't."

"Must you be so annoying even after death?"

There's silence. The assertion of the words forces the lightness of the moment to be gone. Lexa wants to claw her eyes out, to swallow the words back and choke on them. She feels like suffocating.

"I'm sorry,"

It echoes in both their mouths, but it does nothing to ease the heaviness of Lexa's heart.

"So what do I do, now?"

"You carry on, you must."

"Please don't leave again, Anya, I'm not ready for all this. I need you."

"No you don't. You know what you need."

And the tall figure starts to evaporate, and Lexa trembles. Not again.

"Please,"

"Look for the signs, Lexa."

The younger brunette closes her eyes, and waits several moments. When she opens them again, Anya is gone, but she's not alone. King Gustus is here, tired eyes and sad smile.

"Father."

He goes behind her immediately, and starts rocking her gently on the swing. Lexa might break down for good, but never in company of her father, never in the company of the King.

"I wasn't expecting to find you here." He says, deep voice soothing.

"I didn't expect to come."

The sky is almost fully blue, now, and the day can start. Birds are chirping, weather is warm. Lexa doesn't feel like enjoying the beauty of the moment.

"Do you think about her a lot?"

"All the time."

"I miss her too."

It is so striking in honesty that Lexa almost does fall from the swing. The open admission is bold and sensitive.

She stops the slow rocking movement of the swing and let his hands rest on her shoulders. There's a gentle squeeze. The conversation is over, she knows it.

"There's some business that needs attending. I will be travelling out of the castle for a few days. Indra will look after you."

"I can perfectly look after myself, father."

"I will put Indra to the task, and you do with that what you want. It will put my mind at ease."

"Fine, Indra can pretend to look after me."

He chuckles, warm and tensionless.

"What is this business, father? If it is concerning enough for you to leave the castle, surely it can't mean good things."

"You let me worry about that. Let's go back."

No other words are said, and the trip back to the castle is full of silent questionning.

Lexa considers wasting her day away. She bids her father goodbye, when he leaves, and retreats to her room. Lost in her head she sits by her large window, looking out at the fields, and, in the far right corner, as clear as the light of day, she sees the stables.

She spends hours daydreaming about nothing in particular but her mind often wanders towards a certain blonde soldier.

Sometimes she sees her walking around with her horse. Her heart beats faster everytime.

* * *

When night falls, she's grateful that her father is away and Indra trusts her, and she can roam the place more freely. She pretends like it's a coincidence that she ends back up at the stables, but she isn't fooling anyone. Especially not Clarke, that smiles knowingly when she sees her enter the large doors of the cold building.

"Princess Lexa, you're here again."

"I am just Lexa,"

"And here again," the blonde repeats. The brunette blushes hard.

"Father is gone and I was mildly bored."

"Are you looking for.. entertainment?" And Clarke is confused and dubitative. Surely the princess is not looking for what she thinks she's looking for.

"I am more than capable of entertaining myself." The blonde nearly chokes at that, her cheeks crimson from the suggestion and she's sure she's mistaken, and it has nothing to do with the images in her mind. She tries to push them away, it's wrong and disrecpectful but one can't control their subconscious.

"I have no doubt, pri- Lexa."

"Maybe I'm looking for.. company?" And she's unsure and shy, all over again. Clarke softens, all thoughts of naked body writhing leaving her mind, for the most part anyway. She looks at the young brunette affectionately, admires her courage and honesty. She smiles softly, and it's returned almost intantly.

"I am deeply honoured that you deemed me worthy to keep you company, then,"

And for a moment, it's awkward silences and flirty smiles until Clarke retrieves a wooden stool and invites the other girl to sit.

"Let me know if you are cold." She says, and resumes her activity, which consists in brushing her horse.

"What's his name?" The brunette asks, reaching a hand to pet the horse gently on his side.

"He doesn't have any."

"How come?"

"I don't have a good enough idea, I guess. He's just Good Boy to me." Clarke shrugs, looking at the animal with infinite affection. Lexa finds it endearing. She keeps that information to herself.

"But he needs a name," she argues, pouting. She has taken a liking to the animal already, his white robe soft and warm under her hand, the gentleness and calm of his presence reassuring.

"Well, does Princess Lexa wish to suggest a name then?" It's teasing and playful and Lexa just like the easy banter, the way it feels natural and unforced. She rarely gets to talk this way with people, always restrained into formal discussions. People are scared to talk to her, and even with her closest maid, there is still this hierarchy heaving over them. She doesn't feel that way with Clarke. She feels safe and normal.

She ponders on an idea for a moment, then. She thinks, long and silently, watching the majestic animal. She gets up, round him, standing on the opposite side of the horse from Clarke. They exchange a look, and smile; it's hard, Lexa finds, not to smile all the time while looking into blue eyes as deep as the ocean.

"David," Lexa says, breaking the stretching silence. Clarke frowns while smiling.

"I know I'm nothing exceptionnal, but it's too early for you to forget my name already." She knows she doesn't mean it, that she is just playing around, it doesn't stop the next words to leave her mouth to sound serious and deep.

"I would never forget your name," she holds the soldier's gaze, whose playfulness and humor have disappeared. The silence returns, and Lexa, afraid of the truths it might hold, adds, flustered "I meant, for him, he deserves a name that suits him," she returns to petting the horse's fur.

"David, then?" Clarke's eyes never leaves her, though, she can feel the piercing gaze trying to read into her soul. "Does it have a particular meaning?"

Lexa smiles gently, looking at the horse with affection, "In several cultures, it means 'beloved'," and her eyes return on the blonde. Once again, no one speaks for a few beats of excited hearts.

"It's very suitable, indeed," Clarke says, "He shall be named David from now on," it's husky and delicate and Lexa feels warm all over. She carries on with the conversation, hoping to find something to talk about that will make her feel less.. heated and with a warmth at the pit of her stomach. Honestly, she doesn't know what it means, and she isn't sure she wishes to find out. (You and I both know she does).

"I always wanted to ride a horse,"

"Don't you already do that? You know to leave the castle and everything?"

"Well, yes I have on very rare opportunities but I was very little and always with Anya or Father," she says softly, "I can barely remember it, and after Anya's accident.. I just wish Father would let me ride a horse again."

Clarke doesn't answer that, instead, she turns and gathers what she needs to saddle David. Lexa doesn't notice at first, lost in her thoughts and sorrow, but soon, she hears the movements.

"What are you doing?"

"You father isn't here, now, is he? It appears like you and I are going on a little adventure,"

"It's dark outside!" Lexa all but cry, before adding a little stern, "Plus, you do realize that my father could have you executed for going against him?"

"I'm willing to run the risk if it means I can see that smile on your face again," Clarke says, only half-joking. She feels it in her bones that she'd be willing to risk far worse for this girl.

"What smile?" she asks, flustered all over again, the admission that the soldier would give her life for something as simple as that leaving her with her chest aching in all the right ways. Clarke only raises her brows purposefully, and, really, Lexa doesn't mean to smile, she doesn't mean to. Except she does, and it's bashful and she drops her eyes for a second before lifting them again, looking at the blonde through her lashes.

"This one," Clarke chuckles softly, and really, it's all she can do not to go kiss the brunette right this instant, "Like I said, your father isn't here, and like _you_ said, it's dark outside, no one will see us," when Lexa opens her mouth to protest, she adds, "And nothing will happen to you, I will protect you," she lets another beat pass, then, quietly, firm and purposefully, "With my life."

Lexa has no counter argument, well, she has. There's a million reasons why this is a bad idea, but there's only one that has enough power to make her ignore them: she wants to go. She wants to, she craves to, and the softness and determination in Clarke's eyes are entirely too appealing. She also thinks briefly about Anya's words from this morning, and her heart squeeze inside her chest, but she quickly pushes the feeling away.

She nods once, barely perceptible, and Clarke's eyes light up, she moves behind her, and guides her hand on the handle of the saddle, and give her soft instructions. When Lexa is ready, she lightly puts her hands on her hips, in a mere attempt to help her climb on top of the animal, but for a second, when contact is made, both freeze, and the princess turns her head slightly, eyes down, cheeks flushed.

Clarke stops breathing for a fleeting second, lost in the feeling of the other's body under her hands, and she closes her eyes, trying to be respectful, and not think of the other places she'd like to trail those hands in. She can hear the itch in Lexa's breathing, opens her eyes just in time to see her lick her lips, all of which doesn't help her. At all.

The moment is gone, though, when Lexa bends her knees and propels herself, helped by the strong arms of Clarke lifting her, and in one go, she's seated on the horse's back. Once she's made sure the princess is comfortable enough, Clarke tucks her foot in the stirrup, and expertly climb, sitting herself behind the other girl.

Once again, the extreme proximity makes them both pause, and Lexa thinks she should be extremely cold, her dress being strapless, her arms, shoulders and collarbones exposed, but she feels overly heated, with Clarke's breath now in her ear.

The blonde snakes her arms around the brunette body to grab the reins, and the tension rises.

"Is this okay?" Lexa hears, a quiet whisper against her skin and she can only nod slightly, having lost the use of her voice completely.

She feels Clarke give the horse a nudge and soon, they're moving, exiting the stables. Before long, though, someone is calling the blonde's name and Lexa's blood turns cold.

They stop, and the princess hangs her head low, knowing it is completely useless, they've been caught.

"Clarke, taking a nice lady on a ri.. Oh, Princess Lexa." Lexa turns her head and sees a young girl, but she's wearing an armor too and seems intimidating and fierce. She bows slightly, clearly taken aback by the royal presence.

"Yes, Octavia, and I trust you to keep that to yourself?" Clarke answers, and it's clear that the both of them share some kind of commradry.

"Naturally," she goes to turn around, but adds, "If I may, your majesty, you shouldn't wander on a horse uncovered," and it's so stupid that they haven't thought about it, that Lexa almost wants to chastise Clarke for being reckless and forgetful, but really, she's equally at fault. Octavia only laughs, and it's the second time that Lexa feels like her title isn't so heavy. She hears the hushed, "Wait there," and watches Octavia go into another wing of the stables.

"Don't worry, Octavia won't tell, trust me,"

"I do trust you, Clarke," she says softly, glad that the brunette soldier is returning with a long cape to distract her from the heavy admission she just let past her lips. She accepts the cape, with a smile.

"Thank you, soldier, I appreciate your discretion,"

The other girl just nods solemnly and takes a step back, not without sporting a light smirk. She pretends she doesn't notice the way she gives Clarke a thumbs up when they start moving again, and she doesn't feel the blonde shakes her head in annoyance.

The cape, however great an idea, prevents her from feeling the warmth of Clarke, the light breath she felt on her neck. She regrets that, she deeply hope they'd go to a more secluded area so she can take the hood off. And Clarke, ever so chilvarous, seems to have the same idea, because she asks "Would you be okay going into the forest with me?" nobody ever asked her so gently something before, so she accepts, and the ride in silence until they cross edge of the dark forest.

Somehow, advandcing into the darkness, she feels safe. Clarke's arms are strong and decisive around her. The soft glow of the moon lights the wild vegetations around them, she craves to see it cast on the blonde's face.

"Octavia, she's a soldier, too.." She says, in the silence, taking her hood off, leaning slightly into the warmth of the other's body.

"Yes, her and Bellamy. Their mother died and Bellamy, her brother, enrolled in the army, Octavia basically trained alongside him. She was a natural, the king couldn't deny her a place in his ranks," Clarke explains, her voice is soothing so close to her ear, Lexa is content to listen.

"I can imagine," she answers, distractedly. She wonders of the closeness of the two, how Octavia made a comment on Clarke take 'a nice lady on a ride', wonders if Clarke takes a lot of _ladies_ on horse rides. The idea of that doesn't please her and she questions the feeling of mild anger that settles somewhere within her.

"She's the reason I wanted to join the army. She's inspiring, and I wanted to follow her example. She made me want to fight for my people."

Hearing the blonde praise the petite soldier only fueled the feeling. She clenched her jaw and stood a little bit more straight.

"You two seem quite.. close." She doesn't dare speak more explicitly, the subject being highly prohibited. But her words are sharp and accusatory.

"Have I made Princess Lexa jealous?" Under any other circumstances and heard by any other member of the court, Clarke would probably have her head cut off for saying those words, and she dares laughs, low and smug against the other woman. Lexa's blood boils, but she isn't angered of the audicity of the words, she is angered because she feels _caught_.

"I am most certainly not." She answers, too quickly, too rushed and trembling for it to be believable. She feels the need to change the subject of the conversation. "I would appreciate you not refenrencing my title, please."

"Why, aren't you proud of being princess and future Queen?"

"It's not.. It should be Anya. The title wasn't mine to be in the first place. It should be Anya." Lexa answers, not knowing why the words fall so easily from her mouth, why confessions are so simple around Clarke.

"What happened to your sister doesn't make you less deserving," the soldier answers, putting an arm on Lexa's arm. It's meant to be comforting, and it's efficient. A little too much. "I think you'll make a stunning queen. Royalty suits you, Lexa."

"Simplicity suits me best,"

"One doesn't prevent the other," Clarke argues, and squeezes Lexa's arm once before taking ahold of the reins once again. She waits a beat before whispering, "But you're right, it does suit you."

They're silent after that, and it's not long before they see the edge of the forest once again. It's getting late and Clarke will not deprive the princess of more sleep than she already did. The latter puts on the hood wordlessly, leaning once again into Clarke's body to enjoy the last moments of warmth before they cross the threshold of the stables.

"Thank you, for the ride," Lexa says after climbing off the horse with Clarke's help. She smiles. It's soft and grateful.

"Anytime," it sounds hopeful.

Lexa leans in, silently, and presses a kiss to the blonde's cheeks before taking a few steps back, turning to make her way back to the castle.

"Goodnight, Clarke," she says over her shoulder, casting a last glance at the soldier, who's watching her, flushed and rapt.

"Goodnight, Lexa."

They sleep deep and peaceful this night, and their hearts never slow down.

* * *

It becomes a habit. The following night, Lexa returns to the stables after spending the day braiding her hair with Raven, her favorite maid, and, sometimes she likes to think, her friend.

They laugh and talk, enjoying the little bit of freedom that comes when the King is away. Titus is in charge of the castle, but really, he has a soft spot for the girl, him and Indra always covering for her when King Gustus is looking everywhere to find her.

On multiple occasions, Lexa finds herself wanting to tell Raven about Clarke, about how she makes her stomach flutter, how she feels constantly warm and flushed when she's with her, and how her voice sends shivers down her spine. How her heart beats faster when she thinks about her.

She doesn't say anything. She wants Clarke's head attached to that strong body of hers, and she doesn't know to what extents she can trust Raven.

She'll tell her eventually, whatever there is to tell, because, for now, Lexa isn't even sure what it means. But she's a princess, she has heard of the tales. Of the stories of love and passion, of the prince and princess getting married and having children and a castle, and living in peace. Her heart aches when she thinks that she'll soon be married, that it surely won't be to Clarke. She's surprised she isn't already. Maybe her father is more understanding than she'd think.

And, when she makes her way to the stables feeling giddy and impatient, when she sees the blonde waiting for her, David saddled already, heart squeezing, she knows: she's infatuated.

They ride to the forest everynight for a week, Octavia on the look out, and each time, Lexa presses a little closer, turns her head a little bit more. They ride a little longer.

On the eighth night, Lexa enters the stables light hearted. She smiles softly at the idea of seeing Clarke. The blonde never leaves her thoughts.

However, she's surprised to find her in company of Octavia, they're both saddling horses, seeming in a hurry.

"Clarke?"

The blonde turns to her, eyes appologetic and sad. Lexa doesn't like it.

"Princess," Octavia greets, and makes to leave immediately, taking her horse by his reins to guide him out of the stables. Before she's out, she says, "I'll wait for you outside,"

This sentence alone makes Lexa's hands tremble and fear. The most unsettling feeling bubbles up in her chest. She searches the blonde's eyes for clarification.

"Lexa.."

"Is something wrong?" She asks tentatively, not sure she wants an answer.

"We heard from King Gustus," Clarke says, careful, "he sent a messenger. War is brewing. That's why he hasn't returned." She adds, somber and serious. "Our army is not big enough, though, so I am leaving now with Octavia and others to recruit more soldiers around the realm."

"You're leaving?" She hates the tremors in her voice, she hates the lump in her throat.

"I am," eyes find the ground, almost ashamed, mostly sorrowful, "We are to come back here to give them basic training,"

"So you're coming back?" She repeats Clarke's words like she didn't just hear them. She doesn't know how to grasp the reality that she won't be pressed against Clarke's warmth tonight. That the blonde won't tell her she's beautiful under the soft light of the moon, and she won't get to kiss her flushed cheek.

She takes the long steps separating her from the soldier, she hears Octavia calling her, saying they need to go, now. She doesn't want to. Please, stay, she wants to beg, but she can't. Because Clarke has a duty to her king, and to their people, like Lexa has a duty to her future throne, to her people too. _Their_ people.

"Yes," But it's not joyful, it's not hopeful. It's defeated because she's coming back only to go again after. Once the training is done, she'll go fight alongside her father. She'll be in the battle field, her life at risk. Far away from her. In danger.

Lexa doesn't say anything else, she breathes in, long, hard, and pray the tears away. She makes up her mind in a second, the fear didacting her movements.

She leans in, gently, and presses her lips the soldier's.

Clarke is surprised, only for a second, before she returns the kiss eagerly, pressing her gloved hands to Lexa's cheeks, wiping a few tears with her thumbs.

The kiss doesn't have the time to deepen, or to even last, as Octavia is grabbing Clarke's arm, her horse in the other hand, and all but drags the blonde away from her.

"Be safe," Lexa says, while watching the wide eyed look on Clarke's face, disbelieving and sorry.

"Wait, wait for me," she hears as she retreats, turning her back to the blonde, not capable of witnessing the sight of a departing Clarke.

* * *

When she goes back to the castle, she yells. At Titus, for not letting her know of her father's situation, for not telling her of his endangered life. She yells at Indra, for no reason whatsoever. She doesn't yell at Raven, she lets her unbraid her hair in silence, willing the tears to stay hidden.

It fails. If Raven notices, she doesn't say.

She goes to bed, eyes opened wide, and sleep never finds her.

Another week pass, the days drag endlessly, she tries to keep herself occupied, try to force informations out of Titus, begging to help somehow. He doesn't relent, she's frustrated, desperate, and she misses Clarke.

She roams the castle like she used to before her nightly escapades. She doesn't touch the stones of the cold walls anymore. Instead, the tips of her fingers often finds her lips, as she tries to hold onto the feeling of the soldier's lips on her own.

When she hears of Clarke's return, it's all she can do not to run and fling herself at her, begging to hear her voice, to hear that she's okay. She manages to control herself enough to wait hours, perched on her windowsill, eyes fixed on the stables. She sees her in the distance, heart beating faster, and she seems well. She can see the tiredness in her body from here.

They're beginning the training of the hundreds of men they've recruited. They don't have time so everything is rushed. She slowly makes her way across the castle, doing her best to feign disinterest, feigning boredom.

When she arrives in the training field, all eyes are turned on her, she nods her head authoritatively, as best as she can.

"Your princess and I wish to witness the training of the soldier, assuring that everything runs smoothly," Titus says from next to her. It was his idea and she was too happy to accompany him.

She crosses Clarke's gaze, from across the field, relief washing all over her, yearning to feel her arms again. Lexa watches as everyone bows slightly, reverent and silent. All except for Clarke.

Lexa smiles her way, and the training begins.

Really, Lexa should be worried for Clarke, fighting men twice her size. She should be feeling sad, and worried that Clarke will be going back soon. But watching her move, a sword in hand, armor clad body swifting through the air deftly and graciously, Lexa can't help but notice the appeal. The warm feeling she so greatly missed returns, expanding, and she burns with what she now knows to be _desire_.

She feels impatient to have the chance to be in Clarke's sole company again, if she even can. When she does, she promises herself, she will make the most of it.

After hours of training, Titus giving orders,surpervising, and annoying Lexa, Bellamy finally sends the soldiers to rest for the night. Sun is beginning to set, and the trip adding to the day of training have them drained. They can't push themselves too much, they need to be in the best of shape to fight in the battle that is upon them.

Bellamy, who seems to be the head of their rank, approaches Titus, Clarke and Octavia on each side of him, as well as a tall, dark and quite handsome man. Lexa's eyes find Clarke's immediately and she watches her with desperation.

"When are you planning on joining King's Gustus' ranks?" Titus asks them, looking more at Bellamy than any others.

"Day after tomorrow at the latest," the taller man answers, and Lexa's heart drops, "sooner if the soldiers are good enough,"

"Very well, no later than this, the King needs you."

Clarke's eyes never left Lexa's, she's barely aware of Titus leaving after that. They stand there, watching each other. Bellamy and the others excuse themselves, leaving them both, standing in the middle of the field, seemingly alone.

"Clarke," Lexa speaks first, soft and awed.

The blonde just smiles, sincere, _happy_.

"Come to the castle tonight,"

"Lexa-" Clarke cuts, eyes wide.

"Please. Raven will sneak you in. There are too many soldiers now for me to be roaming around."

The blonde seems to think about it, but Lexa pleads with her eyes and tries to show her how much she _wants_ Clarke to come. There is no denying what her intentions are, and Clarke knows that.

Finally, she nods, small and unconvinced, but it's there, and Lexa knows that if the soldier gives her her words, she'll be there.

The corner of her mouth lifts and she wants to kiss her again, but not yet. She will wait just a little longer.

* * *

The night has just fallen when the door to her room opens and she sees Clarke. She looks clean and prepared. She's standing by the door, waiting for Raven to give Lexa a nod before closing the door.

There's heavy silence, and Lexa approaches Clarke, but doesn't stop in front of her, instead, she passes her and goes to the wooden door, locking it. The sound of the lock is loud in the impending silence. Most of all, it's _eloquent_.

Lexa doesn't turn around, rests her hands against that damn door, traces lightly the creaks in it, trying to distract herself from her fastening beating heart. She can feel the thumping in her ears, she can feel the bloop pump in her fingers, and in others parts of her that she doesn't dare think aloud.

They stay like this for long moments, nerves settling, back to back, until Lexa hears footsteps approach. They're slow, and deliberate. When she feels Clarke hover over her, almost pressing into her back but not quite, breathing down her neck, purposefully, more purposefully than all those nights lost in the deep forest, she trembles.

Lexa thinks she will go mad, both from apprehension and yearning. She tries to pace her breathing, taking in big gulfs of air, hoping it'll calm her nerves. But then, Clarke whispers "I missed you," in her ear, and she sighs, long and relieved.

She turns around, and looks into the almost completely black eyes in front of her. She wastes no more time, and leans in, unraveling at the feeling of the soldier meeting her halfway in a slow kiss. It's hard and gentle at the same time, passionate, and they both inhale sharply at the feeling that is so familiar yet still so new.

They haven't had the time to know each other's mouth, and now, in the privacy of her room, with the night young and theirs, nothing can stop them. It starts soft, firm, until Clarke opens her mouth and Lexa, having certainly no experience in kissing another person, follows the movement, gasping in surprise at the feeling of Clarke's tongue tentatively but expertly licking into her.

She's sure she's supposed to find it weird, but she doesn't. She finds it appealing and she wants more of it. When her tongue finally presses against Clarke's, there's a small whimper that escapes her throat, the action powerful and new, setting her on fire. She grows confident despite her lack of knowledge, but she figures she'll let Clarke guide her, and rely onher instincts, because this feels incredible and their kisses are vibrant and colorful.

Confidence means that Lexa's hands find the back of Clarke's neck, her shoulders, presses her closer, until their bodies are flush, every parts touching and there's no more space between them. Hands find hips and still in deliberately slow exploring movements, they roam the body underneath them.

If you were there, you would hear the long sighs of contentment, the gasps of shock and arousal, and occasionally the moans of pleasure when tongues meet passionately. You'd see Clarke's body pressing Lexa's against the door gently but firmly, the kiss growing, deepening, neither of them ever caring of breaking it for air. You'd see one of Lexa's leg raise and one of Clarke's hand grab it, only to grind her hips into the brunette's, the kiss only breaking then, allowing Lexa's head to drop against the hard surface of the door, allowing, in turn, Clarke's kisses to trail down a pale neck, across a quickening pulse point.

Clarke isn't fooled, though. And before she's in too deep, before she goes too far, she pulls back slightly, drops Lexa's leg, and waits for the princess to look at her. When she does, she speaks quietly but clearly.

"I assume that you haven't been with anyone. Yet."

Lexa's heart flutters at the _yet_ and she has to compose herself from all the emotions she's been having in order to answer.

"No, as a princess, I mustn't be bedded before marriage," she notices the way Clarke's face seems to fall at that, "but I have no intention of waiting."

"Lex-"

"Have you? Been with anyone?" She cuts to avoid the argument.

"Yes," the argument would have been better.

She does nothing to hide the jealousy in her eyes as they avert, looks at the floor, anywhere but Clarke.

"None of them matter like you do," she adds softly, and the admission rips through Lexa violently, so much that she can't stop the words forming on her lips. They stumble out of her mouth, humble and confident.

"Bed me," she states, aloud, staring once again into the bluest eyes.

"I will not get you in trouble. If someone were to find out-"

"I have no concerns for who finds out. Bed me," she repeats, grabbing the collar of the leathery armor and pulling to get the soldier closer, impossibly closer. "Chances are- This might-" she doesn't find the strength to finish her words, to voice those thoughts, those realities. She pushes them away, and tries to remember the feeling of Clarke's lips on her neck, how good if felt, tries to forget the idea that Clarke might be dead soon. "I am offering myself to you," she whispers against the other's lips, low and husky and convincing, "Show me what love feels like."

Clarke has no willpower to argue with that.

They kiss again, hungry and determined. Clarke doesn't waste any time after that, gentle hands grab the back of thighs, and lift. Lexa is in her arms in seconds, easily, her weight light and feathery. There's a gasp, or perhaps two. If there are, they're so synchronized and similar that it'd impossible to tell them apart.

Lexa's hands don't go around Clarke's neck, she's far too fascinated by the feeling of the strong muscles of the biceps she feels through the leather. It makes her burn, thrive, she wants to feel skin, and she's lost on how to ask. She's clueless, and she wants to know so much more about the way Clarke's body would move against hers.

Clarke walks them to the bed, until the back of her knees collide with it, and she sits down, effectively bringing the younger girl with her, until she's straddling her legs. She breaks the kiss and looks up, into green, green eyes, shining with desire, a little fear too.

She drags her hands up a slender back, it's arching underneath her touch, and she reaches for the laces of the dress.

"May I?" It's soft and not too demanding. More for reassurance. Also, Clarke would never undress a girl without asking first.

"Please, indulge me,"

Once again, Clarke is a little unsettled by the confidence in Lexa's voice that contradicts the way the girl is shaking in her hands. But those words, uttered, eyes unwavering, just set her fingers in motion and the laces are delicately pulled. Soon, the white dress opens, Lexa gets up letting it pool at her feet.

Lexa has never been for fancy corsages and complex attires. She'd rather wear a simple white simple dress, tonight, while waiting for the soldier, she thought it would be a good idea to be prepared, not wear anything underneath but a simple white underwear. Looking back now, she feels exposed and ridiculous standing there.

The look in Clarke's eyes, though, is nothing but admirative and awed. Lexa looks so virginal, and ethereal, Clarke can barely believe this girl is hers to have tonight. Of all her affairs, she has never seen something look so purely inviting, innocent but tempting, while so reverently beautiful.

The only thing Clarke can think of doing is taking off the big jacket of her armor, slip to the edge of the bed until she's no longer seated, and press her knee to the floor, looking up with honesty and love.

"You entrance me," Clarke says, solemn and hoarse. Lexa find truth in her words, and she feels beautiful, only for Clarke. Not like she feels when men praises her beauty, like they have to.

When she tugs at the blonde's hand to get her up, she nearly doesn't feel nervous at all anymore, for she knows Clarke will be gentle and caring. And that she is, as she kisses her carefully. The hunger resumes. Clothes are shed from the soldier's body, fumbling and meaningful.

Once nothing remains, Lexa traces with her fingertips the defined lines of Clarke's body, sharp muscles, generous chest, and she's fascinated by it. She spends long minutes exploring, paying particular attention to the reactions it ellicits. The closing of eyes, deep inhaling, long sighs, muffled groans. She doesn't realize right away that her touches are teasing and torturous, but when she does, she makes a point of remembering exactly what she's doing and stores it for future use.

Clarke, after what feels like hours, finally lays Lexa on the bed, hovering over her, proctective. She kisses away all remning traces of nervourness, discovering every part of her body before settling with her head between her legs. Lexa has clearly no idea what she is going to do, panicked, so she leans on her elbow to look, to ask, but when her mouth opens only a high-pitched sound escapes her, and she's mewling, because she realizes: Clarke's tongue just _touched_ her _there_. And it felt heavenly. She's grateful she listened to Raven's advice and took a bath before the soldier's arrival.

"Is this okay?" She hears Clarke ask, always gentle. Lexa just nods, closes her eyes, begging in her mind to feel that again, because if this is what love feels like, she wants to be loved for the rest of her life. The feeling returns and it's more insistant, warm and wet and strong. Her mouth falls in a silent scream, disbelieving, her eyes fly open. The sight on blonde hair between her legs attached to a toned and strong body is enough for Lexa to feel overwhelmed.

She feels things she has never imagined she _could_ be feeling, it's euphoric, maddening. Her arms tense, her hips buck, she grabs what she can, somehow it ends up being Clarke's head. She lives in another world completely, only one word on her lips, as she closes her eyes again, a tightening feeling in the pit of her stomach that she has no idea what it means, but it's building towards something appealing and she wants to know what it is.

She pleads, as she repeats, "Clarke, Clarke, Clarke," needing to feel grounded for what is about to happen. When it does, her hips lift completely off the bed and she stills, feeling something snap inside of her and immediately release, reaching some kind of peak. There are waves of pleasure rushing throughout her body and no sound comes out of her, she's stopped breathing, stopped moving, waiting for the tremors to pass.

She collapse on the bed after a few silent moments, Clarke returning to kissing every places she can, until she can hear Lexa's breathing calming.

"How are you feeling, love?" The term of endearment makes her want to cry and laugh at the same time but she's too far hazed to do any of it. She's trapped in pure bliss. Now that she has discovered the love between two bodies, she never wants to let it go.

"Can you- Would you.. do that again?"

"It would be my _pleasure_ ," Clarke husks against the other's lips, and she shudders.

"Can I, maybe, if you're willing.. Will you let me do it too?" And she means it, she wants Clarke to experience what she just experienced and even if she's nervous she doesn't know how, she's willing to try her hardest. That'd have to be enough.

"You can do anything you want to me," Clarke watches the green eyes blacken a little more, she smiles adoringly, "but first, let me take care of you some more."

And so she does, she doesn't stop loving on Lexa for hours, if only because she can't: she's addicted, she's fascinated, she's _hers_.

When Lexa reciprocates, she's shaking at first, she's clumsy, but under Clarke's soft gaze and reassuring smiles, she learns the way the blonde's body reacts and responds. She comes to appreciate all the ways it makes her buzz to watch Clarke tumble into blissful pleasure. Especially knowing her hands created the sounds she hears, muffled by the soldiers firm thighs around her head.

They doesn't stop until the sun rises and part when absolutely necessary. Their hearts are heavy and Clarke promises she won't leave today. She promises she'll come back at night to share more passion under the midnight hour.

* * *

Lexa assists at the training once again, and they must leave at dawn, she hears. She tries to ignore the sound of her heart shattering.

She fails.

That evening, when she takes another bath to wait for Clarke, she finally gathers the courage to talk to Raven.

"Do you know of love, Raven?" She asks, quiet, lost in thoughts.

"I think I do, Miss Lexa,"

"Quit calling me miss, please." She hopes a heart ot heart will make her realize how fondly she thinks of her maid, how she thinks of her as more of a friend. "I think I do too,"

"Miss Clarke is a very good looking soldier," the maid answers, voice low and fearful, but also understanding.

"That she is," Lexa says, sorrow laced in her words, "That she is," She pauses again, getting out of the bath. "She leaves tomorrow."

She hates the weakness in her voice, she hates she truth in the words.

"I know, Miss Lexa," Lexa thinks she sees a shared feeling, and she wonders if Raven too, has fallen in love with misfortune. "If I could, I would tell you that all will be right," she says, "Unfortunately, I can't."

"Isn't it a tragedy?"

"It is, Miss Lexa, it really is." If Lexa sees the tears streaming down Raven's face, she doesn't say. She lets Raven quietly dress her in a simple night gown, because there is no more reason to pretend now, and watches as she slips away to retrieve the blonde soldier.

* * *

When she enters, they don't speak, they only fall in each other's arms in silence and there is no need for pretense. They undress fairly quickly and fall into bed holding each others.

There are moans and screams at times, the will of making the most of their last night strong. Sometimes they stop to kiss gently, talk briefly, about anything, like when Clarke asks, "Does Raven know what we are?"

"And what are we?" Lexa asks smiling, leaning back from her straddling position on Clarke's body, naked as the day she was born, watching the soldier lie on the furs. There are hands on her thighs and hips and it makes it hard to focus on how to speak.

The blonde, to answer, follows the brunette in her sitting position and kisses her, pressing close.

"In love," she says. It sounds like a prayer and Lexa could cry. In fact she does, and the admission is so powerful that she can do nothing but kiss the other girl until the tears subside and she's left with a hunger to show just _how much_ in love she is.

She pushes Clarke back against the bed, and starts a slow grinding motion, loving the way she's being watched.

"Raven does know, and she knows better than to speak about this. I trust her," Lexa says, breathing laboured and unfocused. "Does Octavia know you are here?"

"Yes," Clarke laughs, never taking her eyes away from the goddess on top of her, "In fact, I think she is having an affair with Raven. I wasn't the only one sneaking into the castle"

She doesn't answer, because that would explain a lot, and she just feels for the other girl, knowing that soon, they will share more than laughter and a few secrets. She whises they didn't though, she wishes they wouldn't have to share that.

* * *

They don't sleep once again, and Clarke feels exhausted but she has a long journey and maybe she'll be able to sneak some hours of sleep on her horse.

They whisper words of love and embrace each others at the door when Clarke has to leave. Lexa almost doesn't let go, she grips and clutches at the armor, she pleads with lips against lips but she knows it: duty comes first.

She lets her go, finally, watches the other slips through the door, her hand holding on until the very last moment.

They don't say anything. They don't speak. Lexa doesn't hear Clarke's voice one last time.

* * *

It feels wrong. It feels wrong and so, running to the stables she hopes to find the soldiers departing.

She does, Clarke is ready to climb on her horse, ready to go, just outside the stables, surrounded by the all the soldiers ready to go to war.

"Soldier!" she says firmly, and the blonde turns to her, stands by her horse, waits. Lexa is careful not to come too close, not to show affection with anything other then her voice and her eyes. The only person close enough to hear is Octavia, and she doesn't care much if she hears.

"I needed to hear you,"

"Be safe while I'm not here," Clarke says, "Don't go on midnight rides with anybody else,"

Lexa laughs. It's not even close to sounding joyful.

"I'll wait for you," She takes only a step forward, craving to feel the warmth, craving to touch again. Again. Please.

"Wish me a good trip?" The blonde asks, as the soldiers surrounding them start to follow Bellamy. Time is running out, it'll be over soon. She prays that the seconds would last longer, that the minutes would expand, that time would stop altogether.

She closes her eyes and thinks of all the things she could wish for Clarke if they can't be together. The words fall easily from her mouth.

"In peace, may you leave the shore," she starts, softly, imagining Clarke sailing safely on peaceful seas, not surrounded by blood and death.

"In love, may you find the next," she would be waiting on the other side, of course, waiting for her soldier to come home.

"Safe passage on your travels," she adds, crying now, the soldiers almost all gone, "until our final journey on the ground,"

The soldiers are all gone now, marching in the direction of the horizon, backs turned to the scenery of pure agony unraleving. Oblivious to the tearing sound that two souls make when they part.

"May we meet again," Lexa finishes. This is her ultimate wish.

Clarke, taking one final risk, and because she is mostly hidden by her horse, closes the small gap between them, kisses Lexa's lips, hard, lingering. It feels too much like farewell.

"Clarke," they hear Octavia, "It's time,"

So they part. Clarke climbs on a brown horse that Lexa doesn't recognize. She reaches for the princess' hand, and when she Lexa gives it, Clarke kisses it with the same gentleness she has shown the first time she tasted her skin.

"I'll come back to you," she says, as she urges the horse to advance, never letting go of the brunette's hands.

Eventually the contact is lost and Lexa is forced to watch Clarke departing again, knowing full well that this time, she might never return.

* * *

Lexa, when she goes back to the castle, discovers that David, their white companion, never left for war and Lexa cries all over again, knowing that Clarke left his friend behind so the princess would have something to remember her by. Someone to keep her company.

She makes Titus teach her how to saddle him and ride him. She spends her days roaming the lost forest on his back.

* * *

It's three weeks later, when she hears news from the war. They won, of course they did. King Gustus is strategic and merciless.

She all but runs to meet the returning army, looking for blonde hair and blue perfection.

All she finds is Octavia, limping and beaten down. She doesn't need to say anything to understand, and she breaks.

She can't grasp at the reality, she can't believe that it's true.

Clarke is dead.

Octavia slips something in her hand, there, in the middle of the field, and Lexa doesn't have the strength to look at it, merely because she can't even get up from the ground.

Her father carries her to her room and she pleads and beg for him to hold her. He does. She thinks he must've known, because he doesn't question the tears, the screams of agony that breaks her body.

In the middle of the night, she unfolds the piece of paper Octavia gave her. It's crumpled and dirty, blood stained.

 _Death is not the end, may we meet again._

It's shaky, she imagines Clarke writing it while knowing her time has come. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she did. Maybe the blood stains are hers.

She cries for a week. She starts to pray. She prays every night.

* * *

She ends up marrying some prince, she doesn't care much for him. He's respectful and gentle and good. When she closes her eyes at night though, there's golden hair and blue eyes, always. She still prays.

Every morning, before starting her day, she takes David to the swing and cries at the gaping hole, the one where her heart used to be.

Still she prays, for years. She prays for death not to be the end.

Maybe, when her time has come, she can hope to meet her soldier again.

She prays until she gives her dying breath.

* * *

And thus ends the first tale of my neverending story. Undying love and answered prayers are the first steps of every great tragedy.

* * *

 **I'm so sorry. Please let me know what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

**We can never leave, (the past behind).**

You may think that eternal love is a blessing. In some sense you're right. You might think that eternal love is a curse. Well, you wouldn't be wrong either. Where is the limit, where is the line? Who decides?

It's a fine theory. If given the choice, would you choose to put yourself in that place? Choosing to witness and endure the loss of the other half of yourself over and over, but cherishing the knowledge that there is never a real end to your story. That those violent tragedies are nothing but pauses in the continuation of your fidelity.

Well, there isn't a right answer. Some will choose it this way, some won't. The fact of the matter is that the choice isn't given. The reality of the situation is thrust upon you, and you have no other choice than to accept it.

Clarke and Lexa will come to accept it too. However, for it to be accepted, it has to be realized first.

The realization comes pretty quickly, if you ask me. There's no gentleness to it, it's brutal and unexpected. At first there's misunderstanding, then there's assertion, and finally, acceptance. It comes with the hope. It's laced with despair.

It happens the second time they meet. There's no time to waste, the universe will tell you.

How very ironic.

They don't remember immediately. They're oblivious, not like you and me.

It's barely a few decades later, nearing a century. There's no sense of royalty this time. Clarke and Lexa are two random citizen, as random as one would expect them to be. No burden, no sense of duty. Or so you think.

Clarke has always felt a sense of duty. Granted, it's not always as grand and purposeful as being a leader or part of an army, but it's there and she never denies it. Lexa doesn't either. It's beneath their skin, and might be the only thing equally as powerful as their love for each other.

The young blonde is quite notorious around the realm, not that she wanted it this way. But it happened. She learns to live with it.

Tonight was one those night, and the tavern is packed, loud men laughing and singing their life away. Clarke hates it, she hates the stench of beer and sweat, the crowded feeling opressing her. She hates the dress she has to wear, she hates she has to wear it to please customers. She hates it all, but it's necessary and it makes for a great cover.

She'd rather wear her leather pants and light shirt, unfortunately, she can't afford anybody to see her dressed like this.

Halfway through the night, the bell of the door rings and she barely hears it over the sound of the festivities. But she does and when she lift her eyes, expecting yet another group of half drunk men, all she sees is a lonely brunette, her green eyes piercing and gentle.

She walks into the room like a gentle breeze of summer and Clarke is rather glad she's working her shift tonight. Their eyes meet briefly across the room and there's a weird feeling in both of their stomach. They stare at each other for a moment, until the brunette is knocked over by some strangers and the contact is broken.

Clarke tries hard to ignore the shiver that ran through her whole body, tries to pretend it was just the chill air that passed through the door when it opened. For a moment, she forgets that it's the middle of july, that the nights are warm and that the air is everything but chill and cold.

She watches as the brunette takes a seat at a secluded table. She watches as Octavia goes to take her order, and her impulse, she doesn't why, makes her go after her.

"Octavia," she all but scream as she comes from behind the counter, "will you take the bar, for a bit? I need a change, I'll get that table."

All she gets for an answer is a knowing look and a smirk, before her friend turns around and goes to slip behind the wooden counter.

She approaches the table with unfamiliar nerves, and when she gets there, she catches the green eyes once again. For what feels like hours, but might actually be only seconds, they stare, silent. She feels like she knows her, yet she wants to discover her.

She tends not to trust strangers. She tends to be wary, and cautious. She doesn't understand why she feels drawn to this woman.

"Hi, can I get you anything?" Finally, she asks with a shaky voice.

Lexa is mute for a moment. She feels it too, the familiarity. She feels the eyes strained on her, and while it would normally make her uncomfortable to be stared at so intently, she can't help but return it.

"Just a soup, with bread. Please," it's small and unsure, Clarke almost feels the need to ask again. She doesn't, she just enjoys the politeness, nods, offers a smile and turns to the kitchen to prepare it.

She can't help but pour just a little bit too much soup, and cut two slices of bread instead of one. She doesn't explain it, not sure if she even wants to, she just does, and hurry back to the table to deliver the order.

Going back to the table she can't help but roam her eyes over the awaiting girl. She notices the slight hollow in her cheeks, and wishes she'd have cut a little more bread. It's in her nature, to worry about people.

She places the order on the table gently, a sincere smile plastered on her face, and almost refuses the money the girl gives her. She accepts it anyway. She goes back to the bar and observes, the silent girl eating.

She's composed, her back straightened, her posture solid and unbent. Her clothes are worn out, it's clear, but you'd only notice it if you'd pay attention. It's in little details, some fixed rips here, some holes there, patched up sometimes, left uncared for when not noticeable enough. She cleans up well and would you cross her in the streets, you'd think her a regular young woman. Clarke knows to look for the signs, though. She notices. She notices because she was this girl once, too.

She was the poor girl, holding onto to the only nice clothes she owned to pass the impression that she wasn't. To pass the impression that she was like everybody else, not willing to need the help of others. Only willing to help herself. Not willing to show weakness. Only willing to show composure and maintenance.

Clarke notices the way she eats too. She doesn't launch herself at her food, doesn't plunge her head in the bowl of soup, doesn't tear at the bread with her teeth. She's careful and calm, but she closes her eyes a little too long when she inhales the sweet scent of potatoes, looks a little too relieved at the pieces of vegetables she finds. She's cautious not to spill a single drop, not to waste too much bread making crumbles.

So Clarke watches, fascinated, how this girl, obviously starving, manages to look so laid back and casual eating what she knows to be the best soup of the realm, (she cooked it, mind you). She's impressed by the control showing in every move.

She's stopped in her studying when she realizes the girl has stopped moving, and finding her eyes, catches her looking at her with questioning eyes. She averts her eyes, embarrassed at being caught, and turns to busy herself.

"Hey, Clarke," Octavia calls, "look at this man over there." She says gesturing to a lonely man who seems to be a little too wealthy to be eating here. "Think he'll make a good target?"

She thinks about it for a second, and nod.

"Maybe, definitely worth a try." She says with a wink and goes over his table.

As fate would want it, he happens to be seated just a table over Lexa's, his back turned to the brunette. Clarke tries not to let it distract her too much. She needs her focus if she's going to pull this off.

She spots the man's purse, loosely tightened to his belt, and thinks it's going to be far too easy.

She makes a quick work of seducing him, hating every words that falls from her mouth, sitting beside him on the wooden bench and pretending to touch his back, flirting away to distract him. Soon enough, she has the purse in her hand.

Right when she's about to get up and walk away, she notices green eyes looking at her intently, shifting between blue ones and her hands. She feels guilty, for a second. But then, the tiniest of smirk spreads on plump lips, and she smiles back before kissing the man's cheek, oblivious to what has happened to him. He's far too drunk anyway. He'll be lucky if he even remember ever being here tomorrow.

She gets up and walks to the bar, where Octavia watches her.

"Check mate," she whispers,

"Oy, nicely done, Clarkey," the other waitress smiles big and stash the purse in a wooden box behind the counter.

"Did you ever doubt me?"

"I wouldn't dare,"

Clarke smiles and her eyes fall back on Lexa, who has now finished eating. Without thinking, she goes back to the table.

"Do you want anything else?"

"No, I'm okay, thank you."

Clarke, who's never one to take no for an answer, feels quite generous.

"Come on, anything, on the house," and, it's still lost on her to this day why she looks at the man, a few feet away from Lexa.

"You don't have to," the girl says, "I won't say anything."

"I never say you would,"

"I will still have to refuse your offer."

Clarke doesn't know what compels her to push, to hold the brunette's stare defiantly, and ask "Why?" but she does anyway. There's just something she can't place.

"Because I won't be able to pay for it." It's said quietly, laced with shame and decisiveness, but the gaze is threatening and her head is held high, like she refuses to let this truth take her dignity away.

"You don't have to," Clarke presses, and watches as the girl hesitates. She doesn't leave her the time to argue again and grab the bowl for a refill. She chastises herself for being so insistent. She knows why the girl refused, like she refused pity and charity when she was in her place.

Still she can't help herself. She pours some still hot soup, carefully picking extra pieces of veggies, and cuts two more slices of bread. When she returns to the table, the girl already has her mouth opened to protest, so she leans in close, and whispers in her ear.

"Consider it a treat from the lovely gentleman over there," she smirks when she leans back, and turns, once again, relieved when the man in question gets up and leave, still oblivious that he's missing something. She lets out a sigh.

When she looks back to see if the brunette is eating, she finds her frozen in place, not having moved an inch, mouth slightly opened and eyes wide. What Clarke didn't realized, was that when she was leaning over Lexa, she gave her front view of her extensive cleavage, and well, it's not like Lexa could have stopped herself from looking. It's not like she wanted to stop herself. However, she didn't expect to be so affected by the sight and found herself awestruck by the beauty of it all. It didn't help that the dress Clarke is wearing is designed to compliment those particular assets.

When Lexa shakes herself out of her reverie and finally accepts the extra meal before her, Clarke turns, satisfied, deciding to focus on her work.

"Pretty girl paid for the extra soup?"

Clarke shrugs, "No," she avoids the pointed look, "But the rich man did." when her friend laughs she adds, "Too bad he doesn't know how generous he is."

"Alright, I'll let it pass, because she really is pretty. But don't let Bell know, or I'm dead."

"As if Bellamy could ever hurt you,"

"I know. But he doesn't know that I know that." She smirks, serving a beer. "Alright, it's calming down a bit, you can end your shift. Costia and I can manage without you,"

"You're sure? I can stay, I don't mind."

Octavia frowns, turning to Clarke with a weird look. Then she looks at the seated brunette carefully finishing her bread, and it clicks. She laughs entirely too loud for Clarke's liking. In all the years she worked at the tavern, she has never said she didn't mind working. Sure, she has stayed even when didn't have to, but she was sure to complain about it. She was upfront with her dislike for the job, even if she loved the family that came with it.

"Oh Lord, that's the frist time I hear you say that, what has that girl done to you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." She ignores the laughter, "Fine, my shift is done then."

Octavia continues laughing, as Clarke goes up her room to change. The great advantage of working here was the home she could call her own. She considers going to sleep right away, but changes into a more chaste dress and goes back downstairs to see if the mysterious brunette is still here.

She is. Of course she is.

Clarke sits across her, smiling as she says, "I finished my shift, I wanted to know if you.. liked the soup." She wants to hit herself for sounding so.. not hersef.

"Yes thank you, you didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to." She admits, smiling softly. "I'm Clarke."

"Lexa," The brunette says, returning the smile. "That was very impressive what you did, tonight."

"It was nothing," Clarke mutters, "Comes with the experience,"

"Experience?" The blonde curses herself, knows she told too much, the mere fact that she got caught stealing so deftly, and now the admission, is enough. Lexa is a smart girl, and Clarke's reputation precedes her.

"You're him." The brunette speaks again, eyes narrowing.

"I'm a girl, thank you very much."

"Clearly," Lexa answers dryly. Clarke doesn't miss the way her eyes drift to her cleavage briefly. "You're the thief. What is it they call you? The Shadow?"

"You're delirious. And wrong."

"Well, you're not really convincing. It's okay, we've all got secrets to hide," Lexa says looking down at the empty bowl of soup on the table. She tries not to let her shame show.

Clarke doesn't know for the life of her why she risks saying what she says next, but she does.

"I'll keep yours if you keep mine,"

All she gets in return is a gentle smirk that quickly becomes a genuine smile. She doesn't know what to think of the flutter in her chest at the sight of the green eyed beauty smiling in front on her, so she adds, "And I don't know where you've heard anyone calling me that. I don't have a name. I'm mysterious that way."

Lexa laughs, a full open-mouthed laugh, and Clarke thinks it's the best sound she ever heard. She can't help it, she laughs too, if only to cover the sound of her heart beating.

"Why do you do it?" She asks and the laughter is gone, just like that.

"So I can give it to the people who needs it most." She says truthfully. It's not like she needs it, she has a home and a job and it's really enough for her.

She can't handle the look of reverence in Lexa's eyes, she can't handle the feeling of her throat drying and closing.

"Come back tomorrow," Clarke finally says, standing up. "There'll be food," She rounds the table and kisses a flushed cheek, lingering far too long. "Goodnight, Lexa," she whispers, and leaves.

Lexa stops breathing when lips press against her skin. She doesn't move for a full minute and when she turns to catch a final glimpse of the blonde, it's too late. She touches her cheek and whispers words that fall in no one's ears. "Goodnight, Clarke."

Upstairs, leaning against the door of her room, Clarke finalley breathes out, releasing the sweet smell she's been holding inside her lungs to keep the brunette close to her a moment longer.

Lexa goes back the next day. She comes in early, sits at the same table and order only a glass of water.

Clarke comes back with a plate of food and a glass of juice. She offers a smile and doesn't stay to hear Lexa's protest.

She stays until Clarke finishes her shift and they talk until the tavern closes.

Clarke kisses Lexa's cheek and watches the blush creep up the other girl's cheek.

She falls asleep smiling and content.

Fate works in mysterious. The next night, Lexa comes back but Clarke isn't here. So she doesn't stay.

She roams in the surroundings. It's not like she has anywhere else to go. When she nears the forest, she hears a carriage. It looks royal. It takes her a second to see the silhouette in the trees, in the dark. It takes her less than that to recognize that it's Clarke.

When she sees her jump into the night, landing directly on top of the carriage, she gasps, and her heart leaps in her throat.

It all happens so fast, and she looks around to see if there's any witnesses but there isn't. The night is dark, she can't see anything that's happening, and, she knows she shouldn't, but she goes closer, her heart beating.

She hears groans and shuffling, men's voices but she really can't understand what's happening, and she's scared, she fears for Clarke's life. Really, she should have trusted her more. Hundred of years laters, Lexa sill hasn't forgiven herself for what she does next.

In the confusion, in the unknown, she let's a loud "Clarke," out of her mouth, and it's all it takes. A second, a distraction. Blue eyes turn to her, and even in the darkness, Lexa can see them, bright and clear and pleading. It's all it takes for her to make a mistake, and she barely has time to catch a bag, punch the man whe she normally makes them pass out so they don't follow and run, brushing past Lexa and grabbing her hand on the way.

"Run!" She hears, and so she does, she does run into the forest, Clarke's hand securely in hers while she's feels herself being dragged. She runs until her lungs threaten to give out, until her legs scream in agony, and even then she doesn't stop. She feels like crying but she doesn't have the time. It's her fault. It's all her fault. She prays, she prays they'll make it out okay.

She hears men shouting in the distance, they're on their track. They're followed. She knows that if they get caught, it'll be over.

They run for what feels like hours, when it's barely been five minutes, and before she has time to process what's happening, they've stopped.

They've stopped because there's no ground to run on anymore. She looks ahead and what she sees is nothing. They've reached the edge of a small cliff, and when Lexa looks over, she thinks that it's not that heigh.

"We can make it, let's jump."

But Clarke doesn't move, she turns Lexa so she has her back to the cliff.

"They'll come after us. They'll jump if they have to. They want me. I'm too big of a prize, they won't let me go."

Lexa doesn't understand, and Clarke wants to cry. It's over, she's been caught. She can't let them catch Lexa too.

She thrusts the bag full of gold into Lexa's hand and looks at her. There are apologies in her eyes.

"There's no other way, Clarke, we have to jump,"

"You jump, they won't look for you. If they catch me, they won't look for you,"

This is not happening, Lexa thinks, she doesn't want to. With Clarke walking in her life two days ago, she found solace and she's not ready to let that go. Because of her own stupidity.

"I am not leaving you here,"

But Clarke doesn't answer. She just looks at her and grab the collar of Lexa's jacket. Were you to ask Clarke, she'd tell you that what she does next is to distract the brunette, os to prevent her from convincing her to go with her. When her lips meets Lexa's, though, she knows that she just couldn't let the girl go without telling her. She has to know, Clarke thinks.

Fate works in mysterious ways, it's true. Who decided that Lexa were to walk on Clarke thieving? Who decided that it was a good idea to distract her? Who decided that lips on lips was the trigger of their memories? Will we ever know? I don't have all the answers, but what I can tell you is that in this moment, in this brief, single moment, time stopped and past lives connected with new ones.

Clarke, stunned, almost forgot to push against Lexa's shoulders, but an approaching scream reminded her what was happening and she pushed a disbieliving Lexa over the edge, watching her eyes as they remembered at the same time.

The blonde barely registered, a few seconds later, arms around her, dragging her, tying her, gagging her. She can barely hear the guards screaming, people talking. All she can focus on, all she can hear, is a farewell whispered a hundred years ago, carrying through the ages to her ears again.

All she can see behind her eyelids as she closes her eyes, is a white dressed princess holding her hand, kissing her cheek.

She pays little mind to the tears on her face. All she can think about is Lexa.

Lexa, falling over the cliff. She did what she had to do. She did what she had to do.

Lexa, too, doesn't realize she is falling.

She doesn't realize she is falling because as her body floats into the air, she remembers the feeling of Clarke's arm around her body, strong and decisive.

As her body hits the water, hard and cold, she remembers the nights of loving passion, the way the bodies moved together and the softness of Clarke's lips on her own.

When she finally comes up for air, she swims, with all her strength, with all her might. She has to find Clarke.

When she comes out of the water, she screams and screams and screams until her voice is lost in the depth of the void inside her chest.

She hates fate with every fibers of her soul.

Lexa goes back to the tavern the next day, in broadday light, when there's nobody and she's alone with Octavia.

She throws the bag of gold on the counter without one care in the world, and she feels like she'd rather die right now to test out the theory that she might get to see Clarke again.

"Where did you get that?" says Octavia, serious and threatening.

"Clarke gave it to me," she answers, dry and emotionless, "I don't want it."

"Clarke is imprisoned because of it," she pauses, "Because of you,"

"I don't need you to tell me that," She turns to walk out, she turns because she can't handle to see this place without Clarke.

"They're going to execute her. In two days."

Lexa freezes. She falls on her knees and feels like taking her own heart out of her chest. She'd scream some more if she had the strength.

She doesn't.

She stays there, clothes still somehow wet and clinging to her body like a prison of her own. She can't close her eyes, because everytime she does, she sees the image of Clarke leaving, sorrow in her eyes, on the back of a brown horse. Everytime she does, she sees reverent blue eyes looking at her like she's the light that shines upon all of us.

How is it fair? It's not.

"I have a way for you to see her."

Lexa doesn't answer, she just listens."Lincoln, he's my.. anyway. He's a guard at the castle. He'll sneak you where they keep her. I was supposed to go, but.."

She doesn't finish her sentence, and Lexa doesn't know how long she stays there, kneeling on the floor trying to process the idea that she got another chance. She got another chance. And it is over already.

Clarke lies in her cell that night, she's quiet and accepting. She closes her eyes, she spends all her wasted hours eyes closed to see again. She focuses, try to recreate the feelings on her skin, try to engrave green eyes and shy smiles into her brain. She doesn't want to forget this time. If this was to happen again, she wants to remember right away. Please, let her remember right away. Let her keep the memories of a young princess, let her keep her memories of a lost child.

She wants it all. She wants to keep it all.

She doesn't sleep that night, she doesn't sleep at all, too occupied reminiscing.

In the soft hour of the dawn, she hears footsteps, Lincoln's voice. She hopes, oh, she hopes.

Answered prayers, you all remember, and those of Clarke are. Because when she opens her eyes, she sees green ,and it's not a memory. In seconds she's a the bars of her cell, stretching her arms to reach for the goddess on the other side.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," the brunette all but cries, she presses against the metal and they both curse it, because it's the only thing separating their bodies.

"Don't be," Clarke says, and grab Lexa's face through the bars. She pulls, and pulls, until they can steal a kiss. Another, and then another. They kiss until they can't breathe. "I'd do it all over again,"

"What happened to us?" Lexa asks, tight throat and short beath.

"I came back to you," Clarke smiles, she has to. She can barely believe that she's graced with the sight of her love again.

"You did," the brunette whispers, voice cracking, against Clarke's lips. "You did,"

"I'll find you again, love, I told you once, death is not the end." The blonde pulls her harder, trying to feel all she can despite the iron prison restraining her. "Feel it, believe it, nothing on this world could keep you away from me. Not even death. You remember that while you wait for me to come back again."

Lexa doens't know how to answer to that, she doesn't know how to voice that she doesn't want her to find her again, she wants her now.

She kisses Clarke, long, hard and slow, and she kisses her like it's the last time. It is, it is the last time. So she feels the way lips move delicately against hers, the way Clarke's tongue moves in sync with her own, how it feels like everything she's tasted until now is sour and dull. She enjoys the way Clarke breathes into her mouth, deep. The way she gives her the air that's been inside of her, like she wants to share her deepest secrets. She tries to touch her face, memorize it's shaped and the way her jaw moves as they kiss. It is the last time. At least for now.

She screams in agony when she feels Lincoln's arms pull her away, hates the way his hand against her mouth is erasing the remnants of Clarke on her lips. So what if she's loud, so what if they hear her. Let them take her, let them put them in that cell with Clarke.

Let them have her.

And as Clarke watches her go, when she returns to wait for her certain death, she allows herself to cry. She allows herself to crumble.

She accepts the fate that is thrust upon her, it doesn't mean she has to enjoy every excrutiating seconds of it. This memory, she tells herself, the image of a devastated Lexa, is not something she wishes to remember the next time they meet.

She waits for her death, peaceful and calm. When she closes her eyes for the last time, before they take her life, she smiles.

Lexa doesn't go to the execution, she doesn't think she's strong enough to witness that.

She goes back to the edge of the cliff, sits with her legs in the emptiness, and wonders. She wonders and wonders and doesn't pray. She never prays.

She takes Clarke's job at the tavern. Octavia is nice enough, and Lincoln understand the pain there is inside of her. He's seen it. She's astounded how Clarke saved her once again, gave her a home and food everynight, at the expanse of her own life. She remembers the words she said a lifetime ago. _I will protect you with my life._

She wonders if maybe someday, she'll be the one protecting Clarke. She vows, she asks, she demands, to let her protect Clarke next time.

She meets Costia. She's nice, and pretty, and not Clarke. But she's nice. And pretty. Gentle, and caring. She's understanding. When she lay with her at night, she hates herself for thinking of blue eyes and blonde hair but there's nothing she can do to prevent it.

She cares deeply for the woman; they both know they will never love each other like that though. They're content to take comfort in each other's arms, and it seems to be enough for the both of them.

Still, she never recovers from the gaping hole inside of her. The emptiness that took over, and now, she misses Clarke twice. She misses her soldier, she misses her thief. She misses her in both lifetimes, and the hollows that were once in her cheeks are now in her eyes. She spends the rest of her life wondering.

She wonders, and wonders.

Lexa wonders what she has done in her past lives to deserve a curse like that.

To every story its own agony. You will learn that it's not always the most happy that makes for the greatest love story.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's to chapter three, it's a little bit different, it happens on a greater amount of time. It slayed my heart and was really difficult to write and I'm not so sure about it, so if you have any insight you want to share, please do. All your comment are absolutely delightful, I live for them, I love every words you say. Thank you all.**

* * *

Soulmates. It's a very abstract idea; one that isn't really defined, yet asserted by many, idealized by all.

It entails a certain number of factors. Timing is the first one. The main one. Timing is everything. It has to do with luck, too. Sometimes you don't have that. Sometimes, you don't have any of that. You miss the chance; you're the victim of circumstances and context. What do you do then? You fight, if you have the strength. If you have the will.

Will-does it still exist in such a concept? Do you still have a choice, in who you love and fight for?

How does it all work? Can you still claim to be in control of your decisions? Sure, you choose each other the very first time. Clarke and Lexa did, at least. They did choose each other, and have fallen victims of the tragedy of their story.

Would they still have chosen differently? And now, would they still choose each other without the knowledge of fate hovering over them?

Is love the decisive factor here?

Maybe.

* * *

The next time Clarke and Lexa meet, they almost don't remember at all until the very last moment.

You won't miss the irony; as this life is, up until now, one of the longest they shared together.

They meet young. Queen Abby and King Jake are ruling peacefully over a calm and happy realm. Clarke is the princess, the heiress.

Lexa grows up in the castle too. They meet young. They're friends, the best you've ever known.

"I'm going to be Queen someday," a young Clarke tells Lexa, after the latter is finished with her guard training. "And you'll be the best guard at the castle; you'll watch over me. That way, we'll always be together."

Ten years old Lexa doesn't quite understand why her heart beats so fast at the idea, why it feels like more than the sense of duty filling her chest in agony.

She vows to herself to always look after Clarke, the petite blonde that climbs trees and runs wild in corn fields, while the brunette trails behind, twirling branches and sticks in the air; already eager to fight off anyone who threatens the blonde beauty.

Abby and Jake lets them wander off, they don't worry. Why would they? As the years pass, they come to trust the fierce look in the young guard-to-be.

Clarke laughs and is happy, she doesn't expect the responsibilities. Doesn't consider the heavy burdens of being heiress. It comes crashing down on her one morning, when Queen Abby sets her up to meet a young prince, and tells her he is hers to marry.

"Prince Finn is a very suitable husband for you, he'll take over the throne and become king of the Kingdom of Arkadia."

"I don't understand," Clarke croaks, her throat dry. "I am to be.. wed?"

Abby looks apologetic for a second. But she's firm. Final.

"I don't want to marry him, Lexa," Clarke tells her, at night. They're fifteen and young but already, Clarke feels far too old. She wants to feel young again, she wants to feel like she's free again. "I don't want to be his."

"You won't." Lexa holds her hands, holds her body, shed her tears.

When Clarke looks at her questioningly, she smiles softly and just says, "You're your own first," when Clarke returns her smile, she adds, "And you're mine before you're his. You're my best friend,"

The words are supposed to be soothing, and comforting, but they're like a stab through the heart, and still, they don't understand why.

She cries in Lexa's arms that night, she doesn't understand the queasy feeling in her chest when she screams in misery.

Lexa holds her with a sorrow she can't put into words. It's silly, they both know. It was to be expected. Still, they don't know how to explain why this idea is crushing their heart, and they both won't admit it.

* * *

Clarke meets Prince Finn for the first time in late July, the sun is warm and the light is bright. He doesn't look half bad. He calls her Princess and whispers that she looks beautiful in the gleaming rays of sunshine. It makes her smile for a second only before she sees a brooding Lexa training with Indra in the distance. She still smiles, but Finn's comment has nothing to do with that.

She should start to question herself but she wouldn't know for what. Still, still, she doesn't understand.

Then again, she doesn't really try to.

"Finn is a nice man," she tells a seventeen years old Lexa, "He'll be a good King."

The brunette is braiding her hair, doing them up. Clarke will be married this afternoon. She doesn't explain the sinking feeling in her stomach. Not too sure she wants to.

"Will he make a good husband?" She tries to ignore the sorrow in her tone.

"Time will tell,"

"Will you love him more than me?" She doesn't try this time. It's pleading and hurting and everything she's feeling inside.

Maybe she understands more than she says.

"I couldn't if I tried," it's soft. It's both reassuring and painful. It feels oddly familiar in Lexa's ears. It feels like a promise for something she hasn't asked for but yearns anyway.

She waits and waits for words to leave her mouth, but they never come. She tries to find the meaning. She tries to understand more.

She watches from a distance the union of Prince Finn and Princess Clarke.

Clarke looks surreal in her dress, majestic and mystical. She realizes with a stark feeling the sentiment of desire.

It blurs with the one of pain and jealousy. She learns this day all that is love and the real meaning behind her earlier words.

Her heart breaks at the realization that Clarke might have misunderstood it.

She doesn't try and stop the hope though.

* * *

Clarke learns with the years that love and marriage don't come in the same package. She tries, tries hard to love King Finn. He's good and generous, gentle. He cares for her, but it's just not there. She lies with him and wishes she could go back to running through the fields in a light dress and a lean guard at her side.

She pretends like she doesn't see the look of longing in Lexa's eyes when they're wandering together, going on long strides, standing in official meetings. She pretends like she doesn't know Lexa can see it her eyes too.

Lexa's presence feels like salvation, her gaze feels like the sin she needs redemption for.

Clarke understands it for the first time when she learns the news.

"I am with child," she says, quiet and with tears in her eyes. If asked, she'll say that they're tears of joy. Of course, she's happy. She loves the child already. But she finds herself hoping he'd have green eyes and prominent cheekbones. She finds herself hoping that her child will look more like Lexa and less like Finn.

That's when she understands that she loves Lexa the way she's supposed to love the king. When she sees the look of confusion and pain and wishes she could soothe it away.

"Clarke," there's a smile at the corner of Lexa's mouth. It conveys everything but happiness. "I'm delighted with the news."

"Lying is not your strong suit."

Silence. Heavy and tangible, tension sharp. Breaths are heard, calm but deep, the need for air grand.

"Why would I be lying?"

"Do not ask questions you already have the answer to."

Another silence. This one stretches, extends, lasts. It lasts while Lexa brushes her fingers against Clarke's cheeks. Apologetic. It lasts while she turns on her heels and walks away, afraid of the truth.

It feels like two admissions of guilt neither are ready to do penance for.

The silence lasts days. The looks last months.

Clarke is eighteen, married to a man she doesn't love and pregnant.

Lexa is eighteen, in love with her best friend and queen.

Is love the decisive factor, or is it timing?

* * *

Lexa is there when Finn isn't. She helps her through morning sickness, brings her food for cravings, holds her hand when she gives birth. She talks and pray and tells Clarke she's doing great. That she's amazing.

For a minute there, she almost believes the child is theirs, that when the baby boy expels his first scream, she'll get to pick him up and cradle him.

She doesn't.

King Finn arrives shortly and she leaves. She leaves head hung low, heart heavy and broken.

She waits at the door, like her duty dictates her to do, and wills herself not to hear the conversation in the room.

"It's a boy," Clarke's tired voice rasps out.

"An heir," A pause, then, "Did you pick a name for him?"

"Don't you want to name him after you?"

"No, you choose my Queen," Lexa knows there's a smile on the man's lips and her heart breaks even more knowing that he's a nice man, that he's a nice king and husband. Clarke should love him. She should. There's an uneasy feeling at the pit of her stomach when she realizes that Clarke probably doesn't.

"Aden," the queen mumbles, and Lexa can almost see her eyes closed, the tiredness too evident, "Let's name him Aden."

"Prince Aden, then."

When he leaves the room, he stops before Lexa.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty,"

"Thank you, Lexa. You've been good, looking after her. Will you still? I have to go and inform the court, prepare for the celebration. We have an heir,"

"I will,"

He smiles warmly, and she doesn't find the strength to hate him for being the one to hold Clarke at night.

She hates herself for holding countless of other girls she knows are not blonde with blue eyes. She lies with women that aren't Clarke and feels guilty despite the fact that she knows she shouldn't.

When she goes back in the room, Clarke is fast asleep, so she sits next to the bed and watches her, sweaty and exhausted, deep in slumber. She holds her hand, her heart squeezing at the same time as Clarke's hand in hers.

She falls asleep, too. Comforted by the blonde's even breaths and peaceful presence. The soft cries of baby Aden being cleaned not far away.

In this frozen moment in time, she pretends her life is not the same. She pretends Clarke is not Queen, she pretends the church would allow them to be married. She pretends like she's a fierce king protecting her sleeping queen. For a moment, she pretends that the world allows her love to be enough.

* * *

Years pass and Finn, content with having an heir, spends less and less time with Clarke. She can't exactly say she minds. Well she does. She doesn't love him, it's true, but she cares for him, he's the father of her child, and she _cares._

The upside is that she spends more time with Lexa. The brunette has been assigned to their personal security and that just works perfectly.

At first, he spends a night or two away. She doesn't question it but she doesn't fool herself thinking he's just up doing business. She knows times are peaceful. She knows there are no pressing matters, so she doesn't try and convince herself that he's doing anything else than spend the night with other women.

So she just quietly spends her night alone waiting. It's just a coupe night at first.

"Did the king left you alone in your bed again last night?" Lexa asks her one day, while watching a two years old Aden run around in the corn field. It reminds her of so many things and she feels old despite her being barely twenty.

"He did."

"How surprising." She's bitter and won't try to hide it. If Clarke was in her bed, she'd never want to leave. She's angry that she seeks the company of women to forget she can't have Clarke's, and Finn seeks it to avoid having Clarke's. She fails to see the fairness in all of it. That's when she begins to resent the king.

"Lexa... "

"He shouldn't leave you alone," she says, softer, "I hate that you're alone."

"I'm not," Clarke smiles, and they both understand.

After a minute of silence, Clarke continues.

"Won't you marry someone too, eventually?"

"I won't marry a man."

"Why not?"

Lexa gives her a pointed look.

"You know I won't lie with one."

Clarke smiles again, if only because it gives her hope. Then she doesn't smile anymore because it reminds her that Lexa is not waiting for her, she can't, and she tries to ignore the jealousy at the knowledge that Lexa has company every night while she's alone in her bed.

"Would you marry a girl if you could?" It's tentative and shy.

Lexa thinks hard about it for a moment, because the answer is yes. Of course, she'd marry Clarke, over and over. She'd marry her in a hundred lifetimes. If only she knew. But she doesn't, not yet.

So she says, "No," because she knows she can't marry Clarke in this one, and really, if she can't marry her, she can't marry anyone else.

"Why's that?"

"My duty is to you."

Clarke looks at her when she asks, "Is that all there is?"

Lexa returns the look purposefully when she answers, "No, of course not."

In the loneliness of the moment, they allow themselves a moment of weakness, and their hands reach out to one another. They hold on for dear life, they hold on to each other like it'll solve it all.

It doesn't.

* * *

They don't ever say they love each other. Another year pass and Aden grows and they just know. They don't say it because it'd be too real. But they know and they accept it, and they say it in other ways. Maybe sometimes they pretend like they don't.

The longing looks are still here but they hide them far less than before. Only if for the fact that they don't have to. Finn is always busy, sometimes he takes Aden, sometimes he doesn't, but he always seems like he has some important things to do. Matters to take care of, strangers' bed to occupy. Clarke's bed is cold and empty, she doesn't wish for Finn to warm it, and long for a presence she knows she can't have.

Lexa stops bedding so many girls. If only for the fact that they all remind her that none of them are Clarke and it's pointless to try and pretend anymore.

One day, one fateful day, Clarke decides to be brave. She decides to be strong and allow her heart some relief. She aches for Lexa's touch, she aches for her love, she aches for the freedom.

So she grants herself. She's bold and courageous when she takes the brunette's hand at night. She escorted her to her chambers, like always, ready to bid her goodnight, when Clarke had tugged her hand for her to follow in the dark, empty room.

Now, she stands in the room, alone with the guard, door locked, heavy truths and deep secrets running wild in the silence around them.

"Would you keep me company tonight?"

The looks are nervous, heated, not ready.

"What kind of company do you want me to be?"

The unsureness in her voice is undermined by lust. She knows what she's asking. Clarke knows too. She has waited for this far too long; she has waited for this all her life.

So she doesn't answer with words. It's not necessary. Tonight, she's tired of words. Tonight, she's a woman of actions.

Lexa's jaw drops in the same motion as Clarke's dress. The soft fabric hitting the floor loudly, not as loud as Lexa's heart. It's wild and restless against her ribcage. It pounds, and pounds, and pounds, the sound is like music to Clarke's ears. She can hear it; she can hear it in her chest too.

She stands there and waits for Lexa to decide. To make a move. To accept her, like she has accepted the truth in her heart.

But Lexa doesn't move, she stands there, mouth opened, hands trembling. Breath short, disbelieving. Stunned.

She rakes her eyes over Clarke's naked figure, the sight setting fire to her skin. She's frozen.

And the blonde is not worried. She sees the lust, she sees the desire. She's not self-conscious, because under Lexa's gaze, she feels godly. She feels unreal and maybe she is. Maybe this moment only exist for the both of them, in this room.

So she waits, patiently, desired and desiring. She waits until finally, Lexa takes a step towards her, then another, and another.

Standing face to face, sharing the air they breathe, Clarke waits still. Their eyes close, their breaths mingle. Heads tilt, bodies lean against one another. Tension fills the room, the castle, the universe. Everything in life stands still in the moment where lips haven't yet met lips.

Clarke grows impatient; she's _hungry_ for Lexa. But the brunette doesn't relent; she puts both her hands on Clarke's face to prevent her from leaning forward. She hovers her mouth over the blonde's. She inhales Clarke's scent, Clarke's air, _Clarke_.

"Let me crave you" Lexa purrs into her, "Just for a moment," she adds.

Clarke's hands grip the brunette's wrists, her nails leaving half-moon prints on pale skin. They trail a path on the length of forearms.

"Let me crave you," it's whispered, lust-filled. "One last time,"

Clarke trembles under her fingers, her brows are furrowed, her eyes closed. She waits again, and she's tired of waiting, but she wills herself, only because she knows: this _is_ the last time she won't know the feeling of Lexa's mouth on her.

They don't know how long they stand there, unmoving, anticipating.

Their bodies are already touching, heat is radiating off of both of them.

"Lexa," Clarke all but moan. It's pleading, pleading, and demanding and desperate.

So Lexa indulges, and presses her lips oh so slowly to Clarke's. The feeling is something they couldn't describe. It feels like a rainy summer afternoon, hot and heavy. It's not sweet, though it's chaste at first. But it's intense, and passionate. Slow, slow, so very slow, Clarke thinks she might die from relief and want.

They gasp, because it feels like coming home, it feels like breathing again, it feels like they've just been born again.

They part in silence, lock their gazes and Clarke undresses Lexa without a word. She doesn't want to break the tension, she doesn't want to break the moment. So she just takes Lexa's clothes off one by one, until they're both lying, naked. Lexa rests her forehead on Clarke's, trailing her fingers lightly over the other woman's stomach, ribs, chest.

"You feel familiar." The guard whispers in her mouth, "You feel so new, yet so familiar,"

While she talks, her hand trails lower, slips between Clarke's legs and touches her for the first time. For the first time, she's glad for all the bodies she's touched before, for she knows she'll be able to give Clarke what she wants.

The blonde's moan is the first reaction, sends shudders down both their bodies. It all feels relieving.

"I suppose we got as familiar as we could," the queen says with a chuckle she didn't know she could handle.

"Let me show you how familiar I can be."

And from there, the only way Clarke can use her voice is through pants and moans and chants of Lexa's name. The guard touches her, enters her, loves her a million different ways, and she might cry from how good it feels. She understands once again the feeling of familiarity, the feeling of safety, while it's new and fresh and yet another discovery.

"I feel like I could discover you forever," Clarke says after she catches her breaths, "I feel like I could learn you over and over again." She kisses her, breathes her, wants to worship her.

"Discover me, then,"

So she does, over and over, and they discover each other all night long.

The first light of the new day forces them to part and they kiss each other in the remaining darkness, full and passionate. The kisses are a promise, not only of love, but a promise that this is not the last time they will get to appreciate each other's company.

* * *

It happens almost every night. Lexa joins Clarke after the sun has set, they love each other in the dark, and when light returns, Lexa departs. They only sleep after the sun has risen.

Finn doesn't even hide his affairs anymore, although it's a unique affair now. Clarke learns her name is Raven, and she's far too beautiful for Clarke to hate her.

"Do you love her?" She asks the king one morning, the feeling of Lexa's fingers inside her fresh and insistent, so she doesn't feel jealous one bit. She doesn't even seem to care.

"You're my queen, you know I love you," It feels genuine and he has the decency to look guilty, but she knows the creases between his brows.

"But you love her more than me,"

"Would you hold it against me?"

"No, we didn't choose each other,"

They don't look at each other and part ways, for a second, Clarke thinks that she can have her affair with Lexa in peace.

She's wrong.

Lexa's favourite part of this whole affair is the kisses they sneak in the corners of the castle. It's dangerous and reckless and could lead to unspeakable consequences, but she likes danger.

They're know to stay careful, always try to be smart but their infatuation is strong, the desire powerful. They're still young, it still feels new.

Clarke daydreams all day about the things Lexa can do to her, and Lexa stands in her guard's attire all day, patiently waiting for Clarke to take it off of her.

One night, though, after months of sneaking around, being consumed by want, they're exhausted and their kisses are lazy, their clothes aren't shed.

"I missed you, today,"

"I'm here," Lexa answers in the crook of Clarke's neck.

She rolls to put the blonde on top of her, but they're weak and the motion stops midway, resulting in them lying side by side, faces close, breaths mixing.

"I want you," Clarke says, eyes closed and drifting off.

"I want you, too,"

They smile through the tiredness because they both need each other to know. Clarke blames her next words on the exhaustion.

"If I say I love you, will you say you love me too?"

There's a pause where Clarke thinks that the other woman is asleep. She's almost gone too when she hears, "Speak and you shall see,"

"I love you,"

Lexa is glad that the blonde's eyes are closed and hers too, so she allows a smile, follows by a kiss. It's slow and lazy, mouths glide against each other.

"I love you, too,"

They fall asleep after that, holding each other close, clutching each other's clothes.

The words feel grand and despite the lightness of the moment, it feels like both the curse and the blessing they don't know they're caught in.

They feel it in their bones, that this is more than what it is, but they can't explain the feeling of completeness. The ineffable feeling of fulfilment. They just accept it, and vow to keep the other as close as they can.

The night is young and sleep is fresh, so they make the most of it and they don't forget to wake up in the middle of it to show each other just how deep the love runs.

* * *

It lasts for years, Aden is 8 and starting to train to be a warrior. Lexa trains him when they spend the afternoons together with Clarke.

Those are Clarke's favourite moments, she almost feels like they can be a family.

Some nights, Finn stays with her. She wills herself not to feel disappointed. She thinks he's worried about her, and guilty that he's leaving her to herself. She wants to tell him that she's not alone, she wants to say that she too, loves someone else and they can carry on like this until the very end.

She's not sure of his reaction though. She's not sure he'd accept it like she has accepted it. He's the king, and Lexa's a woman. Everything about the situation is wrong and unfair and she fears that he wouldn't understand.

"You're still my Queen," he whispers against her skin when he's authoritative, aggressive and possessive, all those things that makes her believe that would not share her despite her having to share him.

"You're still mine," It's selfish. Clarke wants to say that she's her own, that she's Lexa's but she doesn't.

Lexa is quick to right his wrong though, and loves a fragile Clarke tenderly each following night he visits her.

* * *

One day, Clarke is 28, almost happy, when Raven approaches her, careful.

"I'm sorry,"

"Whatever for?"

She examines the girls carefully. She's beautiful, she looks fierce. She holds herself straight, holds the queen's gaze.

"You know what for," to the girl's credit, she doesn't falter when she speaks. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I love him."

"Why are you talking to me about the king?"

"I don't want to be anybody's mistress." It's defiant, still careful. Clarke really doesn't how to take it. What it means.

"But you are."

The girl purses her lips, doesn't answer.

"You can have him,"

"As long as you're here, he can't be mine." It's provocative, despite the girl dropping her eyes to the ground. "Not like I want him."

Clarke considers the words carefully before answering. She still can't decipher the message behind the words. What started as an apology ended up sounding like a threat. How, how did it turn into this?

"It's not like I can go anywhere, now, can I?"

She starts to leave and doesn't miss the "maybe you can," muttered to her back, but she doesn't comment. She's sure it's just jealousy talking, when really, she doesn't understand why the girl would feel jealous in the first place.

Clarke's too naïve to know. She's to naïve to suspect.

* * *

The Queen tries not to let Raven's words affect her but they do. _Maybe you can._ Can she? This is her kingdom, she grew up here, this is her parent's legacy. Can she just abandon it? Leave it in the hands of a man she's beginning to despise?

She thinks and thinks and thinks.

She's torn, because staying would mean being faithful to her people, and leaving would be a chance at a real life with Lexa. A life of freedom.

Then again, there's Aden. Would she take him? The king wouldn't allow it. He'd search the entire lands for him. But she just couldn't abandon him.

She talks about it with Lexa one night, a few days later, when the questioning cannot be contained in her head anymore.

"What would you say about.." She pauses, because she doesn't know how to ask. "What would you say about running away?"

"You want me to leave?"

Clarke doesn't miss the look of hurt in the brunette's eyes.

"Yes," she smiles, "but you don't get it. I want to go with you."

"What do you mean? You want to run away together?"

"Nights with you are not enough, I want all of it, I want days, I don't want the burden of the crown anymore. I don't want Finn coming in my chambers anymore, asserting what little power he has left over me."

Lexa frowns, she gets it. She wants more too. She wants it all with Clarke. But she can't delude herself into thinking that it's feasible.

"I want you, I just want you,"

"What about Aden?" The brunette starts, her armour suddenly heavy, as heavy as her heart.

"We'll take him." Clarke says, she makes up her mind right here, right then. She wants to go, the idea far too enticing. She feels like this is their chance, like she'd miss something if she doesn't take it.

"We can't, and you know that."

"Please," Clarke continues. She doesn't notice the tears spilling onto her cheeks but they're here and Lexa sees them. Her heart breaks. It breaks, heavy still.

They're in the cornfield, Aden is running, and it feels like they'd come full circle. Those cornfields, those damn cornfields.

"Please, just come with me. I can't live with only half of you."

"I won't run the risk. I won't tempt fate." The word in her mouth feels too much like a death sentence. She takes a step towards Clarke, pressing her hands to her face. It's dangerous, she shouldn't do this but right now, she can't think past the enormity of what Clarke is asking.

"I'll gladly accept whatever I can get, if it means we can live like this another ten years. What if we get caught? What if he finds us? What if we can't fend for ourselves?"

"What if we can make it?"

Without thinking, Lexa kisses Clarke. She doesn't think. She doesn't think someone might be watching. She doesn't think they're not safe in this place. This is their place. Their safe place. Tonight, it's not so safe anymore.

"The chances are too slim to risk what we have. Let's just accept that this is us. Let's just accept that this is what we have. Let's enjoy it. Every night, I get to come to your room, I get to kiss you, I get to touch you, I get to love you. It's in the darkness, and I wish I could love you for all to see, but it's already more than I could have ever hope for. I won't jeopardize it. I won't ask for more. Let's not be greedy, love."

Lexa kisses her again before stepping away, away from the inviting warmth, from temptation.

"But I love you."

"And I love you too," There's a tear in Lexa's eyes when she adds, "Let's pretend it's enough,"

Clarke nods but doesn't stop the tears. There's not enough hope and too much despair in the words.

Maybe love isn't the decisive factor after all.

Even in ignorance they feel doomed.

* * *

Looking back, Lexa thinks they should've ran away.

The alternative would've been better. Because she doesn't get another night with Clarke. She doesn't get one, and she doesn't get to say goodbye, to kiss her one last time before they take her, lock her up in a dark cell where she can't even see her own shadow.

She understands perfectly where it all went wrong and for the first time, she's tired of understanding.

She's tired of understanding the things of life and knowing that this is her fault that she's here.

So it's over.

Yes, she thinks. They should've ran away.

* * *

Clarke doesn't realize right away.

All she sees is Raven in the throne room, avoiding her gaze. She doesn't see Finn but she hears him. He's yelling and yelling until he sees her.

Then he's calm and scary and threatening.

"You," he snarls, anger dripping from his voice. "You thought you could just.."

She's tired, and knows she's done for. There's no point in trying to deny it.

"Obviously you thought you could too,"

" _You_ are _my_ Queen."

"No I'm not," she counters and everything in her is so done with everything. She just wants it to be over with. Let them lock her up.

"Yes you are," his voice raises, "And your precious guard will be dead by morning."

She falls to her knee and wonders why she didn't fight any harder to get Lexa to go. Why she brought up the subject to begin with.

"Do not delude yourself into thinking it makes me anymore yours."

His face is red, veins popping up. Raven looks guilty, she looks caught. She looks sorry. Well, sorry won't save her now.

"Is that so?" Clarke doesn't let her gaze waver when she looks in his eyes with defiance. "In that case, if you can't be mine, you can't be anybody's."

"What do you mean?"

"If you're so intent on being with her, you can be with her until death."

She doesn't have the strength to answer. Maybe this is a better alternative. But she's surprised he'd do that, she's surprised. Raven too, seems surprised. Like she didn't expect this, like her weak attempt at stealing her throne wouldn't mean it would cost two people's lives.

She thinks of Aden, wonders if Finn will let her say goodbye.

He doesn't.

* * *

Clarke is thrown in a cell but the duration of her stay is so short she doesn't even realize it. She thinks of Lexa, of her stupidity. She thinks she wants to hug Aden one last time. She thinks about how she won't ever watch him grow, be a king, be a man. She hopes he will remember her kindness, and not his father's cruelty. When the time comes, she hopes he'll be a good king.

The sun is barely rising when she climbs the steps to the guillotine.

She has a hood on her face and doesn't see Lexa until the very last moment, when they lift it to show her face to the crowd. She's facing her. Their eyes find each others immediately, and something happens.

Fate. They tempted it. Didn't they?

The fact of the matter is that cruelty doesn't stop at Finn's decisions.

Their eyes meet and memories flow. They flow in their mind, and Clarke can barely hear Lexa's scream of despair.

Because she hears, she hears a prayer, whispered to her centuries ago, she hears Lexa's cry for her to live, she hears her laugh, she hears _Indulge me,_ and _May we meet again_ and _Goodnight, Soldier._

She wants to laugh, to cry, to scream, to breathe again. How? How? Their eyes never unlock, their gaze never untouch.

"Not again," she hears Lexa say, and she sounds young, younger than she is. She sounds weak and different.

"Death is not the end," She shouts, and people will always think it's a vague attempt at making history, but they both know, when their eyes are still bound, they both know that it's only meant for their story.

Clarke is not sure what is the purpose of this curse, what is the meaning of this blessing. That's three times now she had the chance to love Lexa. Three times something went wrong. Is it her fault, this time around? Was it ever anyone's fault? She doesn't know.

As her body is lowered, speeches are shouted, she thinks about all the times she got to touch Lexa's body.

She looks at her for a second more. She doesn't cry like Lexa does. She just accepts it, once more. Lexa is unbelieving. Untrusting. She knows. She knows. Clarke hates the fact that she was always the first to go.

 _I love you_ , she mouths, making sure Lexa sees it. She has to let her know one last time before they go. She has to let her know that this is a truth that did and will transcend ages.

This time she's sure, they'll meet again. She closes her eyes, serene and unwilling to witness when they take her lover's life. They take Clarke's seconds before though, so she can hear the torture in her lover's voice. Her heart has the time to break one last time.

Lexa doesn't close her eyes, and despises herself forever for the image in her head.

* * *

Maybe, the artistry resides in the fact that not only they're bound to meet for eternity, but also, choose one another when the choice is given. Maybe the beauty is in the taken opportunity.


End file.
